by: Gabi Justice
Saving the dogs who end up at Delray Dog Rescue is Kendall's life. It’s the perfect job for a girl with severe social anxiety.
Delray Dog Rescue doesn’t just rescue dogs, it’s a second chance for felons, like her dad. Losing the rescue means losing Kendall's home, her sanctuary, the dogs she loves, her identity and her dad, all over again.
But money's tight, and soon, Kendall must decide between keeping a roof over her head and saving the rescue.
When a video of Kendall’s harrowing rescue of a pit bull from the path of an oncoming train goes viral. Suddenly, everyone wants a piece of Kendall, making her anxiety worse. But this is an opportunity to put the rescue in the spotlight and secure the donations needed to save it.
Can she overcome the social paralysis that's plagued her all her life? Can she ignore negative comments on social media about her looks and smell? Can she accept help from a boy who really sees her, even though she can’t understand what he could possibly see in her?
DOG GIRL is the story of a teen girl who wants to save the world, and ends up saving herself in the process.
Buy Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1951710053?tag=&linkCode=ogi&th=1&psc=1
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Chapter
Two
The
truck pulls into the animal hospital. Rock rushes the pit bull inside. The
five-thirty alarm on my phone buzzes reminding me how late it is. Typically,
I’d be done with chores by now, or at least almost done, and heading into the
house for a shower. God, I need a shower.
I could follow Rock, I’m definitely
concerned about that sweet dog, but my part in this rescue is over.
You’re
so far behind. The
anxiety stirs.
Inhale. Exhale. It’s okay.
I hurry along the sandy path
between the vet and the rescue center. Gotta get back on schedule. Three
rambunctious, disobedient dogs need training, and the wolf-rescue-flyers for
Spring Festival are still not finished. Plus Algebra II homework. There’s no
way. Not enough time. My breathing quickens.
Calm down. Slow inhale. Exhale. A
few deep breaths and the rapid fire breathing reduces to a controllable
smolder.
I pass the length of the yard and
close in on the barn when Cruz nearly knocks me over. “Cruz!”
Mid-jog, he says, “Sorry. Damn bus
was late. Just got here.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Don’t know.” He gives me a small
wave, but no smile. “Gotta go do work.”
That’s weird. Cruz never misses an
opportunity to talk, especially when it comes to rescues. He loves to hear the
stories. He’s desperate to go on calls, but he’s only been here a month, and so
far, none of us are very impressed with his abilities.
I didn’t expect Mom to be gone this
long. And she never explained why the Miami agent wanted to see her.
The phone alarm shrieks again,
snapping me back to panic mode. I rush into the barn.
My boy, Rascal, spots me. His tail
whips in quick circles and his paws drum the ground. The unconditional love
soothes. He smiles. I grin back. I love him so much.
“Let’s go, boy.” I lead him to the
training area.
Rascal, being his usual stubborn
self, won’t crawl through the agility tunnel, so I enter the tube on my hands
and knees, creep half-way, then turn around. He pokes his head in and
growl-mumbles.
“Get in here. I don’t have time for
this.” My fist pounds the ground.
“Arrooh,” he answers.
I laugh, “Come on, boy.”
He tilts his head, backs away,
inches forward, tilts his head again, and talks in his hilarious dog howl.
“You can do it.” At the sound of my
high pitch, he perks up and touches the tube with his front paw but doesn’t
enter. “Tease.” I pound the floor with my fists again, shake my head, and whip
my stringy, brown hair around. That gets him. He races inside, trampling me
with dirty paws in an attempt to ram his way past.
“Rascal!” I’m shoved up against the
wall of the tube.
We’re squished side by side. Wet
slobbery kisses drench my face. His deafening bark rings my ear. Lick, bark,
lick, bark, as if this is a fun game we’re playing. He nudges me with his
slimy, wet nose and eventually squeezes past, scratching and tickling. I’m sure
from the outside it looks like some freakish anaconda digesting a gator.
“Ouwa! Rascal!” One of his nails
snags my skin.
He opens his mouth in a tongue-dangling,
Bull Terrier smile, so I can’t stay mad at him. He’s adorable with that long
nose, pink tongue, and goofy spotted face. He has muscles so dense he can drag
a person without a problem.
“Rascal!” I cover my nose as the
foul odor of his fart encircles me. “Rude!”
No remorse. He saunters out the
other end to chase anything that moves.
I crawl to the opening, stick my
head out, and gulp in the fresh air.
A guy leans over the fence. An
extremely cute guy. He’s grinning wide, laughing. How stupid I must look,
bested by a fifty-pound Bull Terrier. My cheeks burn. Oh my God, is my face
bright red? I’m a tomato-red idiot rolling around in a tube with a dog.
Wonderful!
“That looks fun.” His piercing blue
eyes mock me.
“Very.” I’m still stuck in the tube.
I start to ask him if he’s a Saint Paul’s guy. He looks like a preppy asshole.
They’re all the same – faux hawk haircut with spiked blonde tips, clean sporty
clothes because he probably doesn’t sweat, and a superiority complex. However,
the amount of embarrassment zooming through my body will not allow proper functioning
of speech right now.
I rush to stand, tripping over my
feet, and brush the dirt off of my clothes in an attempt to look somewhat
presentable. It’s not working. In fact, it’s worse. Large mud stains smudge my
shirt. The old, faded, Spider-Man shirt! All the air leaves my lungs. No wonder
everyone thinks I’m weird.
He’s even more gorgeous close-up. A
flawless face, bad-boy grin with boy-next-door dimples and those blonde tips
are actually from the sun, not the salon.
God, I sound like one of Vicky’s
stupid Cosmo magazine articles. Listicle: Top five things on the hot meter.
But honestly, he’s probably an
Instagram model. I can’t help but gawk with a huge smile plastered across my
face. I might as well have a neon sign flashing: Seventeen-year-old virgin, approach with caution. She might attack.
I snap out of it and force myself
to act professionally. It’s strangely difficult to get my mouth to cooperate
and stay straight.
“May I help you?”
“Yes. I need community service
hours for school, and I’d like to help out here.”
Even his voice is smooth.
“Have you ever been convicted of a
crime?” I ask.
“Huh? No.” He laughs, the kind of
choke-laugh that gets stuck in the back of your throat when someone has just
said something ridiculous.
“Then you can’t work here.” I turn
my back on him. Those perfect cheekbones are too much. If I don’t look at him,
then maybe my heart will stop doing circus acts.
“I can go to the Walgreens and
shoplift a pack of cigarettes if that’s the prerequisite to volunteer here,” he
says.
My lips defiantly curl upward at
his joke. Cute, articulate, and funny. I’m screwed.
Just
keep your uncooperative face toward Rascal. Remember, he’s a Saint Paul Boy,
and they’re all spoiled, entitled tools.
I struggle to ignore the voice, and
whatever this is that’s happening inside my body and gather my facial
expressions into a proper attitude of indifference. I spin around and face him.
“I’m afraid that even if you so generously shoplifted on the rescue’s behalf,
we still would not have a position
available for you.”
Rascal takes advantage of my
distraction and digs a giant hole in the dirt.
“No, Rascal!” I grab the leash and
clip it to his collar then he jolts behind. His brute force pulls my legs out
from under me, and I face plant in the mud. He drags me a few inches before I
can get to my knees and wrestle him back into obedience.
Suddenly, Saint Paul Boy’s hands
clamp under my sweaty armpits pulling me to my feet.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re welcome.” He removes his
hands.
“No! You never jump the fence.
Rascal could’ve attacked you, and we’d get sued.” He’s in my personal space.
I’m nearly as tall as him, and it takes all my nerve not to look away, to stand
my ground, to inhale his hypnotic cologne.
Why didn’t I take that shower?
But he just snickers and gestures
to Rascal. “Him?”
He’s still too close. Maybe his
olfactory glands don’t work?
“Rascal doesn’t look vicious at
all.” Cute Saint Paul Boy cocks one luscious eyebrow.
Rascal sits next to us with his
tongue flopping out and gooey slobber bouncing all over the place, that goofy
grin lighting up his expression.
“It’s obvious you know nothing
about dogs.” I turn to Rascal and deflate. Come on, you’re a bully breed. Do
something to support my argument! Growl? Just a little growl. How about a
rumble?
I yank Rascal, which I shouldn’t,
and immediately regret it. My social helplessness isn’t his fault. I lead him
over to the ramps hoping that will normalize this situation. Saint Paul Boy
doesn’t move and continues to stare at me. The mud dries on my cheek, it itches
and reeks of dog poop. If I could, I’d curl up in the corner and die.
Why
is he still here? Don’t look at him. Keep working.
My eyes never leave Rascal as he
masters the first ramp and ascends the second.
“You’re bleeding,” Saint Paul Boy
says.
“What?” I glance down and see a
smear of blood on my arm. It’s from earlier. It must be the pit bull’s blood.
“I’m fine.” I rub it, but it’s dried onto my skin and won’t wipe off.
Saint Paul Boy offers a bandana
handkerchief.
What
is this, the fifties?
“Uh. No, thank you.”
“Hello. May I help you?” Shane
appears out of nowhere. Rascal didn’t even notice her, but he does now. He
barks and tugs the leash. My stepmom is his favorite.
She eyeballs me, concerned I’ve
allowed a stranger into the dog pit. Mom would be livid, but Shane gets worried
not mad.
“Yes, you may.” He politely extends
his hand over the fence.
She shakes it generously. They
exchange greetings that I can’t hear over Rascal’s barking. I give up and let
go of the leash so he’ll shut up.
“I need community service hours for
my senior year. It’s a graduation requirement. I love dogs and was hoping I
could help out.” His dazzling blue orbs slide in my direction.
He wouldn’t last a day here. We
don’t need him. I’m sure Shane is going to say no.
“Yes,” she says.
What? Yes! Why is she doing this?
“We could use a strong boy like
you. Corvette just left us, and he was about your build. No medical conditions,
right? You can lift heavy bags?”
Ah. That’s it. Cruz’s late, I was
gone, nothing got done so she needs someone to unload the Science Diet truck.
“Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders.
As if he’s ever done manual labor.
Ha!
“Great. Come with me,” Shane says.
His eyes widen in surprise.
I snort. Those neat, sporty clothes
are going to get so filthy.
“Now?” he asks Shane but looks at
me for assistance.
I smirk and glance down at the
pristine whiteness of his shorts. Overwhelming satisfaction fills my chest, and
I suppress the giggles.
“Yes, of course.” Her chin lowers, and her
brows rise.
“Great, let’s go.” His voice remains smoothly
confident, but the slack in his smirk reveals the effect of Shane’s challenge.
He follows in her wake. He’s tall,
six feet or more, and thin but definitely strong, carrying those broad
shoulders proudly. Long, lean, tan legs with powerful quads and calves. And
that butt. Wow!
He turns around and busts me
checking out his ass. His lips return to a full smirk. It’s a gut-wrenching
punch.
Frantic anger strikes like a bolt
of thrilling but painful electricity. This time I can’t stop the critical voice
inside my head. He saw you checking him
out! You’re an idiot! Good job, Kendall. You deserve that dog girl label.
Actually, you’ve stepped it up to dirty, weird, red-faced, dog girl. Why in a
million years did you think you were capable of interacting with a guy like
that?
I should’ve been busy training Rascal and
totally ignoring him.
Rascal’s exuberant face bounces as
he pants, oblivious to my internal death.
“Traitor!” I growl. “You’re as dumb
as a stump.”
To this, he bows his head.
My heart breaks. I bend down and
give him a generous scratching on his sternum. “I’m sorry, boy.” The tightness
in my chest fades as I watch Rascal’s tongue hang and flap with joyful
satisfaction. “You’re way cuter than he is.”
I risk a peek over my shoulder.
Saint Paul Boy is carrying one of the giant dog food bags off of the truck, and
he’s looking over here.
What’s behind me? I turn around.
Nothing’s there.
I turn back and catch his eyes on
me. Now he’s smiling. This isn’t good! The web of anxiety stretches and
shudders.
Gabi Justice is the author of
Dog Girl, her teen and young adult contemporary romance debut set to publish in
the fall of 2020. She is the mom to three dogs and one stray cat named Luna
Buna. She lives in Florida with her husband and children. You’d be hard-pressed
to find a tennis court in the state that she hasn’t visited, having three
competitive junior players in the family. She spent most of her adult life
writing editorial copy for local magazines after graduating from the University
of South Florida. Florida provides the settings for all her coming-of-age
stories that highlight bullying, misjudgment, acceptance, and teen anxiety. Her
main characters are goal-oriented teenage girls with a drive that can be fierce
and dangerous.
Author Links:
Website: https://www.gabijustice.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gabijustice/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/yagabijustice
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20495013.Gabi_Justice
Twitter: https://twitter.com/gabi_justice
Great cover
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