B-Cake and Rabbit were tumbling on the lawn, running in manic circles.
“She goes by B-Cake,” Adelaide informed him, stopping her chase to rest. “Not Birthday. She won’t even know Birthday is her name.”
“Why wouldn’t Kaspian-Lee tell me that?” the boy moaned.
Sunny Kaspian-Lee was Adelaide’s teacher. She taught Set Design and Design for the Theater, which was a class on costumes, props, and lighting. And Set Design. Adelaide had taken them both.
When they ran into each other on campus, Kaspian-Lee always said “Hello, Adelaide Buchwald,” and Adelaide always said “Hello, Ms. Kaspian-Lee.” The teacher wore sculptural clothes and had short bangs that stopped midway down her forehead. In cold weather, she’d be wrapped in a burgundy trench coat, with a black watch cap, walking B-Cake to and from the Arts Center. She often carried unwieldy bags full of poster boards, long wooden dowels, and once, feathers. She would hold them against her torso with both arms, with B-Cake’s leash hooked around one wrist.
Now, as the dogs raced and tumbled over each other, Adelaide chased Rabbit. The boy threw himself across the grass to tackle B-Cake. He missed her, though, and she ran past him.
“She’ll murder me if I lose her dog,” he said, scrambling to his feet.
* * *
Adelaide took a dog biscuit out of her jacket pocket and whistled.
B-Cake and Rabbit ran over.
“Sit,” Adelaide commanded.
B-Cake sat. Rabbit didn’t sit.
Adelaide took a second biscuit out and held it up. “There’s one for each of you. Sit.”
The boy snapped the leash onto B-Cake. He bent down and took hold of Rabbit’s collar.
Adelaide gave each dog a biscuit. They took the treats gingerly, being careful not to hurt her with their fangs.
“I like that you have dog biscuits in your pockets,” said the boy. “It takes a certain kind of person to always be prepared with a treat.”
Adelaide was the type to have biscuits in her pocket, and gum in her backpack, and ChapStick, and hand cream that smelled like apricots. That morning she had coffee with three sugars in a thermos. “I carry a lot of treats,” she told him as they returned to the dog run. She pulled some warm toast, wrapped in foil, out her bag. “Want some?”
“What is it?” He bent over and smelled.
“Rye toast. With butter.”
“I’ve never had rye.”
“It’s good. I mean, it’s not bacon. But nothing’s bacon.” She handed him a piece and he ate it thoughtfully.
“My name is Adelaide, by the way.”
“Jack.”
She already knew his name. From the party. “Why are you walking B-Cake?” she asked.
“Kaspian-Lee went off for the weekend with Mr. Schlegel,” he said. “She asked me to walk the dog. Did you know they’re lovers?” He emphasized the word.
“I knew they were a couple. They’ve been to my dad’s for dinner.”
“She used that word. Lovers.”
“Ew.” They were quiet for a moment. Jack stood up. His mood seemed to have shifted. His eyes didn’t meet hers. “I appreciate you saving me with dog biscuits,” he said.
“Can I text you sometime?” Adelaide asked.
He shook his head. “I would say yes, but I’m super busy this summer. See you around, Adelaide. Fun chat.”
* * *
Adelaide gave up on Rabbit and tackled B-Cake, rolling in the grass as the dog scrabbled with her paws. She hugged B-Cake to her chest.
Are we wrestling? asked B-Cake, switching immediately from recalcitrant to licky.
“Oh god, she’s slobbering me,” Adelaide called.
The boy loped over and bent to clip the leash on, but Rabbit had circled back and B-Cake lunged, pulling him as she leaped away. He kept hold of the dog but fell to the ground next to Adelaide.
Pushing herself up, Adelaide managed to grab Rabbit’s collar as she ran by. “These are rotten dogs,” she said. “You’re rotten dogs, did you know that?”
They didn’t know. They loved themselves.
Adelaide took firm hold of Rabbit’s collar, pulled the leash out of her pocket, and clipped it on. Rabbit grumbled, but Adelaide ignored her and lay back in the grass to catch her breath.
Jack lay back as well. His shirt rode up, and Adelaide could see a thick, puckered scar on one side of his abdomen. His ordinary skin looked unbelievably soft and vulnerable next to the wound.
“Well, that was a thrill,” he said. “Good catch, there.”
“Yeah, well,” she said. “I am a professional dog walker.”
He laughed and stood up, making his scar disappear.
He held his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her up. His hand was warm and she wanted to touch him more, wanted to run her finger up his arm.
But he let go. “Thanks for the B-Cake capture,” he said. “I should get her back home before something worse happens.”
That was so fun, said B-Cake. Rabbit is my best friend.
“Will you be here tomorrow, then?” Adelaide asked.
“I might be.”
“I’m here all summer,” Adelaide said.
He smiled. She told him her phone number and he texted her, “Hello.”
Then he disappeared down the path.
A moment later, he returned with a reluctant B-Cake under his arm. “Adelaide with the cerulean dress,” he called. “I remember now.
Cerulean dress and
wide eyes, like a lion.
A raging wave of disobedient hair.”
And with that recitation, Adelaide Buchwald gave Jack Cavallero her heart.
Impulsively,
gloriously,
openly,
she gave it to him, falling in love with someone she did not know, wondering at the curve of his cheek, and the wave of his hair, and the way his shirt draped over his shoulders.
He made her laugh. He dared to write poems. He risked looking foolish in order to create something beautiful or strange.
She wanted to know the story of the scar on his abdomen. How had he gotten that wound? How well had it healed?
She could see by looking at him that he had been