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so flipping hot and why can’t I stop wondering why the junkie dishwasher avoids me at work? Or am I a paranoid loser? “Or am I both paranoid and shunned?”
    “Who you talking to?” Nicole Reeni swings into the room. She’s breathless, spitballs in her hair.
    “Thanks for coming, Nicky,” I say.
    “What are you talking about? G and T study session? I’d rather pick the corn out of my crap.”
    “I want your life, Nic.”
    She drops six quarters into the soda machine, clunk goes the Fanta Zero, and the Reenster bounces.
    One more week of school, and then I go from working weekends to slinging hash full-time at the just barely airconditioned Too in a one hundred percent synthetic fiber uniform that went out of style in 1954. I so rule this Earth.

THE NINTH DAY . . .
     
    (Saturday, June 20, morning)
     
    MACK:
     
    When she laughs, she snorts the tiniest bit. I like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all week, her smile. Her. I double-checked the schedule. She’s definitely on tonight.
    “I shouldn’t mess with this girl, Boo. Why start something that can’t last?”
    My girl Boo cocks her head. She’s bouncing back good. Cuts look clean, closing up nice. She’s eating. She’s strong enough to take with me on my dog walking rounds.
    “Boo.”
    She cocks her head twice. Brown eyes, big and pretty.
     
    First dog I pick up is another pit, big red-nose goofball. What happens next all happens in about a second and a half.
    Boo goes for Red’s neck, just like I knew she would. I say “Ey” as I bump Boo’s shank with the back of my sneaker. She spins to me. I snap the lead hard to pull her behind me and put myself between her and the other dog. Her eyes bug on me. Her ears go from high and forward to back and soft. I’m standing tall and strong, my head up high and proud as I lock eyes with her and say real quiet, slow and deep, “I got it.” Meaning that I got the situation under control. I won’t let anybody hurt her, dog or human. Dogs don’t know what you’re saying, but they know what you mean. Now her tail goes soft too and into a nice easy slope. Her hackles flatten. Her eyes are soft on me and only me. Rest of the walk she’s an angel.
    I wouldn’t trust her alone with another dog yet or maybe ever, but as long as she’s with a human who will take the lead, she’ll be peaceable. They only fight because they’re scared the other dog is going to get them first, and wouldn’t you be if your whole life was fighting?
    Before you know it, six dogs are trotting along behind me, nice slack leashes, and it occurs to me I wish I could play guitar. Never let a dog walk in front of you, especially when you’re going through a door. There’s leaders and followers, and I wish I didn’t have to be either one. For my probation once they made me run rec center track. Winning made me feel worse than losing. I felt good when I quit. But with dogs, you have to force yourself to be a winner. Losers make them nervous.
    Thing about walking dogs is it goes pretty good with thinking, and I can’t quit dreaming of Céce. We’re holding each other, and I’m not afraid to look her in the eye.
    Tony keeps pushing hints. Did I know that Céce loves movies, and wouldn’t it be sweet for her to have somebody to go with after Tony heads south? I don’t like movies too much because you can’t talk to her and you don’t know if you should hold her hand or when to kiss her and how far does she want you to go and stuff like that. I’d like to walk with her again instead. Her, me, and Boo.
    Me and the dogs climb through the cheat weed hills to where the grass softens and gets long in the swaying tree shade, and we lose ourselves in the wildwood.
    This is my secret place, the graveyard. The people who owned this land before they gave it to the city are buried here. Ten crypts, all worn by rain and mossed over. Nobody comes to visit them except me, and they let me sip the quiet. I lie back in the high grass and