Page 13 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
I make an understanding noise. “How long have you been at it?”
“Five hours.”
“Five hours?” I ask, aghast.
He shrugs. Hunter’s apparently a kid of many words.
“Why don’t you come to the house and finish it up? Our internet is much better.”
Finally, Hunter meets my eyes. “You save the crummy internet for the guests?”
From the rotten gleam in his eyes, I believe he might be joking. It’s hard to tell with angsty thirteen-year-olds.
Rolling my eyes, I stand, gesturing for him to follow me. “Come on. I made cookies the other day if you’d like to ruin your dinner.”
And like every other teen boy in existence, the promise of food is all it takes. He stands, closing the laptop, and follows me back to the house like an obedient puppy.
A delicious smell wafts from the back porch. Uncle Mark must be grilling steaks, but that’s something he usually reserves for company.
“What kind of cookies?” Hunter asks, breaking his sullen silence.
“Chocolate chip oatmeal. They’re my—” I stop abruptly when I open the front door and find Hunter’s older brother sitting on our couch, browsing through an old photo album. Mrs. Tillman and my mother sit at the dining room table, chatting over glasses of iced tea. They look awfully cozy.
Landon smiles at my surprise. Just how long has he been here?
Mrs. Tillman looks over from the dining room. “Oh, Hunter. I was just about to send your dad to find you. Cassie and Mark have invited us to stay for dinner.”
They did?
Immediately, I think of my messy, wind-blown hair and resist the urge to smooth it. Before I can rush into the bathroom to check my bedraggled appearance, a white blur of fluff comes running into the living room, yapping with glee.
Candy leaps up, setting her tiny paws on my legs. If she were a big dog, she’d knock me down. Considering she’s no bigger than a stuffed toy, it’s sort of cute.
“Uh, hi there…Candy,” I say, only remembering her name since she threw up candy the first day we met. That sort of thing leaves an impression.
“She’s a Bichon Frise,” Landon’s sister proudly says, following her dog into the living room. “Down, Candy. Be a good girl.”
Surprisingly obedient, the cotton ball drops to the ground.
“A bichon…what now? She kind of looks like a poodle—” I stop when Landon wildly shakes his head behind McKenna…but not soon enough.
The young girl scoops the dog into her arms and gives me a sad look, the kind that says she must educate me. She takes a deep breath and begins, going on about circuses and royalty, double coats, house training, and grooming schedules.
Hunter rolls his eyes and wanders into the dining room, politely asking my mother if he may have the WiFi password. Apparently, he does have manners hidden under that grouchy exterior.
Meanwhile, I gape at McKenna, nodding politely, baffled by the amount of information pouring from the girl’s mouth. She’s like a canine encyclopedia—she even cites her sources as she goes. Landon stands behind her, his grin growing as she goes on and on andon.
Finally, he sets his hand on her head affectionately. “That’s probably enough, Kenna Bear.”
McKenna deflates, and her shoulders droop.
“That was very interesting,” I assure her. “It sounds like you know a lot about dogs. Candy’s lucky to have you.”
McKenna’s big smile returns, and she scratches behind Candy’s ear, making the cotton ball’s leg twitch.
“Except when you feed her candy and she pukes in the car,” Hunter calls to his sister from the table. Never mind about the manners.
Mrs. Tillman hushes him, looking horrified.
