Alpha Dog (11 page)

Seamus watched the entire time from our side of the balcony. Thankfully, he couldn’t join me, because I’d blocked the opening beneath the rail with rocks “borrowed” from the landscaping around the building.

“Why do you do this?” I whined as I scraped and cleaned. “Why can’t you just calm down already? If you don’t stop this stuff, they’re going to kick us both out!”

Seamus just looked back at me with his big expressive eyes, giving an occasional whimper.

At last I’d bagged up the entire mess and scrubbed away any telltale stains, including a particularly horrible one on one of her ceramic kittens. Judging by the smell, I was pretty sure Seamus had also watered a few of her plants, but I wasn’t sure what I could do about that.

I heaved myself back over the railing, holding the bag of droppings and soiled cleaning rags. As soon as I entered the condo, Robot and Christine scrunched up their faces.

“Ugh! You’re not bringing that in here, are you?” Christine said, waving her arms and shrinking into the couch cushions as if I were planning to toss the stuff at her.

“Of course not,” I replied. “I’m just cutting through on the way to the Dumpster.”

A sizzling sensation crept over my neck and cheeks as I stepped out onto the landing. I was really tired of dealing with one humiliation after another. Wasn’t my move to Austin supposed to be about reinventing myself? If I’d wanted to live with constant embarrassment, I could have stayed home and faced the fallout from my breakup.

I was just about to head down the steps when I got a bright idea. Why not take the service elevator instead, to avoid as many people as possible?

See? You can do this,
I thought as I pushed the elevator button.
You can think ahead and avoid these little
disasters.
From now on I would keep everything under control. No more surprises. No more shame.

Just then the elevator dinged. I stepped forward, holding the bag out in front of me to distance myself from the smell. Slowly the doors slid open, and there stood that same guy from before, the cute one from unit 303, this time surrounded by several large paper grocery sacks.

“Uh . . . hi,” I said lamely.

“Hi.” He looked from me to the bag dangling at the end of my arm, his features creased in confusion.

I couldn’t imagine how I must have looked, looming in front of him with a sack of poop. I watched his nose wriggle slightly as he caught his first whiff.

“Nevermind,” I said quickly. “I’ll take the stairs.” I spun around on my heels and charged down the steps, refusing to look back at the elevator guy.

Okay, new strategy. Maybe I could embarrass myself so thoroughly in Austin that I actually ended up looking forward to returning to San Marcos and the mangled remains of my reputation there.

That evening when the guys went out to get us pizza, I tried to teach Seamus to sit—much to Christine’s amusement.

“Sit,” I would say, slapping my hand against the carpet. Only Seamus just kept watching my hand and sniffing the floor, positive I had some sort of treat for him. When he couldn’t find anything, he’d leap on me as if trying to frisk me for it.

“Give it up already. He’s too stupid for tricks,” Christine said the fifth time Seamus jumped on me. She laughed as I stumbled and fell forward, doubling over Seamus like a human overpass.

“No, he’s not,” I said, pushing myself upright. “He’s smart.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, snorting.

Right then the phone started ringing. I didn’t want to answer it. I could almost tell who it was by the ring—shrill and persistent. Seamus started barking and I quickly set him on the patio, grabbing the receiver right before the answering machine came on.

“Hello?”

“Katie? It’s Mom.”
Of course.
“Honey, I just heard on the local news that crime rates are going up in Austin. You girls are keeping the doors locked, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Windows too?”

I frowned. “Uh . . . but we’re on the third floor. How could someone break in through our windows?”

“Are you saying criminals have no idea how to use ladders?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

“No, but—”

“Well, there you go. Promise me you’ll keep your windows locked from now on.”

“Fine,” I said wearily. “Maybe Mrs. Krantz can put bars on them.”

“Oh, no! Not them. You could be trapped during a fire. Which reminds me . . . Do you girls have a working fire extinguisher?”

I slapped my forehead and concentrated on my breathing while Mom prattled on about escape routes and smoke detectors and the importance of naturalfiber clothing. Soon after, Christine took the phone and assured her that yes, I was eating whole grain foods. No, I wasn’t leaving towels all over the place, and yes, we were remembering to turn off the coffeepot before leaving the condo.

By the time we hung up, I was feeble and dizzy from all my pent-up frustration.

“Man, when is she going to get a life and let you live yours?” Christine muttered, flopping back onto the couch.

“I don’t know,” I grumbled. “I guess when she thinks I can actually handle it.” It was so aggravating. I still couldn’t get a break from Mom—even when I lived thirty miles away.

The worst part was, I was beginning to think she was right to worry so much. Maybe I really couldn’t handle stuff on my own. I was certainly making a mess of things so far. I hadn’t made any friends except Christine (and I wasn’t even sure she counted). I had already spent a good third of my savings. And my new dog was systematically destroying all my belongings, scratching up my limbs, and basically doing everything he wasn’t supposed to—and I couldn’t stop him.

I glanced toward the patio door, where Seamus was on his back legs, barking and trying to dig through the glass. “Okay, okay. I’m coming,” I said, grabbing up the leash.

I couldn’t help loving the guy. I just wished it were easier.

6

T
he next morning I woke to find Lyle and Kinky sitting on the couch watching
Sesame Street.
By now I’d given up on ever having an empty living room, so I automatically threw on a pair of cropped jeans and a white tank before leaving my room.

I stumbled toward the patio door and let Seamus out.

“Morning,” Kinky said.

“Hey, Katie,” said Lyle.

“Mornin’, love,” Robot greeted.

I tried to say “morning” back to them, but it came out sounding more like a moo than an actual word. I fumbled for the knob through the blinds, pushed open the door and set Seamus on the patio. Immediately he began running laps, his tongue hanging out, ears flapping in the breeze. It was so unfair. How could he keep me up all night and then have this much energy in the morning?

I staggered over to the yellow armchair, pushed aside a couple of stuffed wiener dogs, and collapsed into it, sinking down as far as the cushions would allow. Not only were my limbs stiff and heavy from lack of sleep, but it was difficult to follow a coherent train of thought. My brain felt cloudy and murky, with occasional lightning bolts of lucid thought, like “need coffee” and “must walk Seamus soon.”

“Where’s Christine?” I croaked, glancing around the room.

“Sleeping late,” Robot replied.

Glad someone can,
I thought glumly. “So . . . you guys crashed here again?” I asked rather stupidly.

“Yeah. Had a gig at Area 54 last night. Freaking brilliant!” Robot said proudly, his smile extending into his sideburns.

“That’s great,” I mumbled, getting a twisty feeling in my gut. That made three nights in a row that Christine had gone out and had fun. Without me.

“Hey, you want some breakfast?” Lyle asked, lifting a piece of bread and spraying on a layer of Cheez Whiz.

“No thanks,” I replied, my throat closing up in defense. I turned away and tried to focus on the TV, where Elmo was having an earnest conversation with . . . something. It looked like a shoe with Ping-Pong-ball eyes.

“What the hell is that thing?” Robot asked, gesturing toward the TV set with his orange-slathered bread slice.

Lyle frowned at the screen. “It’s a loafer.”

“How come he’s talking to a shoe?” Kinky asked with his mouth full.

“Ah, you know.” Lyle shrugged. “It’s educational.”

Robot shook his head. “Looks bloody freaky to me.”

Kinky nodded briskly, his hair bouncing a half second behind his head. “Yeah, that’s the thing about
Sesame Street.
Everything can talk. Shoes. Chairs. Broccoli. But I think you’re right, dude. If there was such a place, I’d be way too spooked to live there.”

“Aw, man, I know,” Lyle agreed. “The Muppets used to really mess with me. I mean, how come Miss Piggy wants Kermit? Could they actually mate? It used to keep me up at night wondering what their offspring would look like. Piglets with flippers? Tadpoles with big snouts and curly tails?” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

I let out a moan and massaged my aching temples. I really needed caffeine to handle this conversation.

“I don’t think so,” Kinky said, rubbing his stubbly chin as he pondered the ceiling. “I think it would be more like in
Lady and the Tramp
where Lady has, like, three puppies that look like her and one that looks like Tramp. So Miss Piggy would probably have a couple of frogs mixed in with her litter of piglets.”

“That’s insane!” I blurted out, scooting to the end of the chair and leaning toward them. “Miss Piggy is a mammal. She can’t give birth to amphibians! Amphibians have to hatch in water and—” I paused and pressed my fingertips to my eyelids. “What the
hell
am I saying? It’s a freaking kid’s show! It won’t happen.”

“Man,” Lyle drawled, giving me wary look. “You’re, like, Katie-the-Grouch today.”

“She’s right, though,” Kinky said, nodding. “It would never happen. Kermit just isn’t all that into Piggy.”

I groaned and sank back against the chair cushions again. I wanted to dissolve away and become nothing for a while. Just a free-floating mass of particles. A nebulous blob that didn’t have to deal with hyper pets or nosy moms or weird roommates. Closing my eyes, I strained to concentrate on nothing. . . .

“You okay?” came Lyle’s twangy voice.

I could hear Robot mumble something about “being mental,” followed by Elmo’s falsetto laugh.

“Sorry,” I said, struggling upright. “I’m just really, really tired.”

“Yeah, you do look pretty bad,” Kinky said sympathetically.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

A loud bang made me jump. Then a scratchy, rapping noise that could only be my dog’s toenails on glass. It sounded like Seamus was throwing himself against the patio door.

“Time for walkies,” Lyle sang out.

“Great,” I grumbled, forcing my tired muscles to move me up and out of the chair. My head throbbed from the change in altitude.

As soon as I opened the patio door, Seamus charged past me and headed straight for the front door.

“Okay, okay,” I said, hurrying to clip the leash on him. Now that I’d discovered his secret potty place and barricaded the railing, I had no idea what he might do—or
when
he might do.

As I slipped on my sandals and headed out into the foyer, I overheard Kinky musing aloud, “So like, if Pepé Le Pew and that cat had babies, they’d probably be—”

“Dude,” Lyle interrupted. “Don’t go there.”

I returned forty-five minutes later, red-faced and limping. The good news was that Seamus didn’t come back in desperate need of a bath. However . . .

“Freaking dog,” I grumbled, wincing with every step. Blood was trickling from a gash over my left kneecap. I’d tripped over the leash trying to grab Seamus, who had just stolen a cracker from a kid in a stroller.

Of course, Seamus was completely clueless to the fact that he’d done something wrong. He glanced up at me as I fumbled with the keys, his tail wagging so hard his whole back end was doing a shimmy.

“Quit being so damn happy. You got me in trouble.
Again,
” I snapped, remembering the toddler’s yowls of protest and the mother’s irate glare.

Seamus made a small, guttural bark and danced about the welcome mat, thrilled just to be talked to.

Finally I unlocked the door and Seamus rushed inside, pulling me with him. “Hang on,” I said, freeing my keys from the knob. I turned to set them on the small console table—only the table wasn’t there. My keys plummeted right to the carpet. “What the . . . ?”

I glanced around the living room in shock. All the furniture had been pushed up against the far wall and draped with sheets. Even Seamus looked taken aback, his tail lowered as he sniffed the air cautiously, backing up against my legs.

“Christine?” I called shakily. There was no answer.

I looked up at the number on the front door, just to make sure I was in the right place. I was.

“Okay. Don’t panic,” I mumbled, slowly pushing the door shut.

“Don’t close it!” came a voice from behind me. It was Lyle coming out of the service elevator, balancing two round black boxes in his arms. “Thanks,” he said as he lurched past me and set the teetering stack on the floor.

“Uh . . . Lyle? What’s going on?”

“Setting up my drum set,” he replied, unclasping the top case.

“Yeah, I see. But why?”

He gave me a puzzled look. “For the party,” he said slowly, as if I hadn’t quite mastered English yet.

“What are you talking about?”

At that moment, Robot and Kinky ambled through the open door, each one lugging a boxy black amp. Christine sashayed in behind them. She paused when she saw me and pointed at my leg. “Oh my God, Katie. Do you know you’re bleeding?”

“We’re having a party?” I asked, too stunned even to feel pain anymore.

She grinned gigantically. “Yeah! It was Robot’s idea.”

“Um . . . are you sure we should? I mean, we are, you know, renting.”

“Who gives a crap?” she snapped. “It’s the last weekend before school starts. We deserve some fun, don’t we?”

“I guess,” I said lamely.

“Come on! You’ve got to go with the flow,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “Besides, if you don’t, I can always tell your mom you’ve been hosting orgies.” She threw back her head and laughed.

I chuckled nervously, wondering if her threat was serious or not. Before I could figure it out, Christine had trotted off in the direction of her room, leaving me standing there in a daze.

I didn’t know what to do. There were no chairs to sit on or tables to set my things on. For the next couple of minutes I watched helplessly as the guys unloaded different bits of equipment and plugged in different colored cords. Seamus kept whining and weaving around my legs, binding me up with his leash.

Kinky plugged in a shiny white bass guitar and began plucking the strings. The deep, trembly notes reverberated throughout the condo, vibrating my sternum. A throaty growl emanated from Seamus, and he backed against my legs, his whole body shaking. I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from falling again.

Freeing myself from his leash by twirling around a few times, I carefully picked him up and took him over to the patio. As soon as I set him outside, he ran to the far railing and stood there, still growling and shuddering.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m going to fix my knee and then I’ll be right back.”

“You say something, love?”

I shut the door and whirled about to find Robot standing behind me.

“Uh, no. I mean, yeah. I was talking to Seamus,” I replied, ducking my head to hide my blazing cheeks. I was getting as bad as Mrs. Krantz.

Robot smiled crookedly. “Whatever you say, love.”

I headed into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately comforted by the cramped, solitary space.

“What the hell is going on?” I mumbled as I carefully washed my wound with a damp washcloth. “Everything’s out of control.”

Ever since I’d arrived in Austin, I’d been dealing with one major surprise after another, and I knew my stress was building on some subterranean level. I could feel it inside me, twisting and expanding into various shapes, like some radioactive, hell-spawned amoeba. Any day now it would burst out of me in all its hideous glory in a scene to rival any sci-fi horror flick.

And now it had this to feed on.

A party? With a rock band and a condo full of Christine and Robot’s friends? That seemed to me a bad idea on so many levels. My mind reeled with images of angry-looking police officers storming our living room. I wondered how Mom would react if I called her in the middle of the night from the slammer, or if my mug shot appeared in the society section of the
San Marcos
Daily Record.
Most likely I’d be spending my senior year with Grandma Hattie, watching Lawrence Welk reruns and learning how to knit.

But then, there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. If I complained, Christine was likely to wield her greatest power of all—squealing to Mom about Seamus and anything else she could dream up.

So which would I rather face . . . jail or Mom?

The rest of the day I didn’t utter a single complaint about the impending party. I held my tongue when Robot dug my spare sheets out of the linen closet and used them to drape the stacked-up furniture. And I said absolutely nothing when I saw Christine open my bags of pretzels and pour them into large plastic bowls for the guests to munch on. When Kinky and Lyle carried in a giant rubber trash can with the keg floating in it, I dutifully scooped up Seamus from the balcony and took him to my room.