Milo bends down and catches him effortlessly. “I can help, Sadie. Let me help you.”
Those are the words I wanted years ago.
“If you want to help, find families for these eight puppies,” I say, my tone low and my head beginning to pound from the background noise of barking and whines.
He nods as he hands the other puppy over to me.
There’s a pause between us that lingers, Milo’s eyes on me while mine are on the puppies, who are now both gnawing on my arms.
“Okay,” he replies quietly. “I’ll see you around.”
He turns and closes the door behind him, the latch clicking quietly.
I put the second puppy back down in the pen but keep hold of the one that now smells like the melted lemonade popsicle he ate, plastic and all, while I was distracted with my feelings.
I walk to the window to watch Milo drive away in his old green truck. The one I learned to drive stick shift in. The one that picked me up for school every morning. The one that I had my first kiss in.Our first kiss in.
I can’t believe he still has it. He could definitely have afforded to buy a new car when he played pro football.
A sharp bite to my arm brings me back to the house I’m standing in, the little two-bedroom ranch-style home that needs new plumbing and new flooring.
“I’m going to call you Jaws,” I say to the puppy. “You’re part shark, part cotton ball.”
He yips in response.
“We’ve really got to get you and your siblings a home that isn’t mine,” I say as I pick up my phone off the counter, opening the camera before taking a selfie with me smiling wide and Jaws looking cute, because what puppy doesn’t look adorable?
Then I post it on Facebook, tagging Dusty Hollow Animal Shelter, and politely beg for someone to adopt them.
4
MILO
Ispentthe weekend reconnecting with others so I could connect puppies with people. Dusty Hollow Animal Shelter said between Sadie’s Facebook post and my efforts, all eight puppies now live in homes that aren’t Sadie’s.
Now it’s Tuesday, and I’m standing outside Dusty Hollow High to officially claim my classroom. Last time I was here, I was eighteen and wearing a light blue graduation gown and cap. Sadie wore hers better, enhanced with her gold tassel and bright smile.
She graduated valedictorian, and I graduated with a determination that football was going to change my life. And I suppose it did, just not in the way I expected.
The red brick building hasn’t aged. The heavy glass door I opened for Sadie every morning still catches slightly, and the smell of floor wax and old paper rushes up to meet me—clean and worn at the same time.
It’s the same smell that used to cling to my clothes after late practices and study hall—when the place felt emptier without her. It’ll probably feel similar today.
I step inside, the hallway stretching out to my left and right, lockers lining the walls.
“Mr. Carter.” The voice belongs to a woman who also hasn’tseemed to age. Ms. Valdez. Principal. Face of sharp angles and a slow stare that slips beneath your secrets and forces you to expose your lies. I remember how surprised she was my sophomore year when I started caring a little more about my grades and saw less of the inside of her office.
“Ms. Valdez,” I say warmly, extending my hand.
Her mouth quirks in a side smile as she puts her hand in mine.
“Life has a strange way of bringing back people I never thought I’d see again. Especially not here as a teacher.” She laughs, and it’s the same laugh. Bubbly but restrained.
I put my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Yeah, I didn’t see this coming.”
“Do you want me to show you to your classroom?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I know how to get there.”
