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tells me there’s no
winning him over with words, though. “Are you an artist like Amara,
too?”
    He grins crookedly as he informs me, “A
butcher.”
    “Arden owns the shop below us.”
    Before I can make any sort of remark, he picks up
the violin case and shoulders by me. Quietly, I inch my way toward
the hallway that leads to my bedroom. It dawns on me then that an
element is missing from this scenario, filled in remarkably well by
Arden. Usually, when Amara is home, her dog greets me at the door.
And by greet I mean snarls ferociously until she instructs him to
do otherwise. It’s sort of like a game show where I’m never sure
what to expect behind the door.
    “Where’s your dog?”
    Arden glances irritably over at Amara. “I’ll go get
him.”
    “No, I―”
    It doesn’t matter what I have to say. He’s already
stalked off into Amara’s ― well, I guess it’s their ― bedroom. I
desperately want to extract myself from the situation. Her dog
hates me, and I’m pretty sure her boyfriend isn’t my number one fan
either. A low growl precedes the entrance of Lou. As he pads toward
us, his eyes are glued to me. I step backward to match the
creature’s approach. When Lou reaches Amara, he sits by her side,
raising his muzzle to get a chest rub. Instead of a collar, a thick
gold chain hangs around his neck, dangling from which is a matching
ring rather than a dog tag.
    “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
    “It is early, is it not?”
    I scratch the back of my head. “To be honest, your
dog kind of freaks me out.”
    “He is gentle,” she urges, scratching the dog’s
head.
    “Honestly, I’ll take a rain check, if it’s all the
same to you.”
    I make an earnest move toward the hallway.
    “Please let your new friends know I enjoyed
meeting them today,” she tells me.
    It surprises me. She seemed so ill at ease at the
time. Her dog huffs as though confirming my hunch.
    “Um, yeah,” is all I can say in response. “’Night,
Amara.”
    “Pleasant dreams.”
    As I walk down the hallway toward my bedroom, I’m
certain that I hear distinct barking laughter resonating behind me.
Although I can’t be sure if it’s Arden or the dog, I do know that I
haven’t won over either of them. I’ve never been on the receiving
end of such open hostility. Somehow, whether it’s warranted or not,
I don’t expect making friends with him is in the cards. Enemies,
well, that’s another story.
     
     
     
    5. Only
Girl
     
    M y parents have always taken kind of a lax approach with me.
Besides that one biting incident, I haven’t given them much to
worry about. Most of my social activities are online. On the rare
occasion that I plan on staying out late in the real world, I bring
my iPhone and let them know my exact coordinates in case of an
emergency. There’s never been an emergency. My track record for
being a fine, upstanding teenager is pretty solid. So when I
explain to Amara what my plans are for Saturday night, I don’t
expect to get the third degree.
    “We’re going to a place called Club Cin-Cin after
the Techno Parade tonight,” I tell her, digging into a fruit
salad.
    Even though I already had my fill of cheese,
croissants and deli meat, she insists on feeding me the missing
element from the food pyramid. Clearly she’s one of those “the body
is your temple” kind of people. Her skin and hair are luminous in
the late morning light of the kitchen.
    “That sounds like...” she struggles to find the
word “…fun.”
    “Do you want me to call or text to let you know
when I’ll be back?”
    “I do not have a phone.”
    The sentence doesn’t compute. “What do you
mean?”
    “Precisely what I just said. I have no
phone.”
    I almost laugh both at her literal way of speaking
and at the fact that she’s unreachable on so many levels. Who
doesn’t have a phone?
    “Do you not require a chaperone?”
    “A what now?” I ask, my voice rising an
octave.
    Her dog lets out a growl by