Nobody's Dog Read Online Free PDF Page A

like it would come off if it was windy enough. It actually looks nice on her, though. Her hair’s all done and she’s wearing makeup. For a second I imagine what it would be like to go out with Soleil.
    â€œWhere’re you off to? A film premiere?” Aunt Laura’s all smiles.
    â€œBetter — a date! I haven’t had one in years.”
    â€œI’ve forgotten what one’s like,” Aunt Laura says.
    â€œWhere’s Libby?” I find myself saying. I wanted to say it to break up the conversation, but it comes out sounding like I care.
    â€œShe’s downstairs watching an art documentary.”
    I snort.
    â€œSeriously,” Soleil says. “Spray paint art in a Brazilian ghetto.”
    â€œWell, she can always join us up here,” Aunt Laura says. “Right, Jakob?”
    â€œUh, right,” I mutter.
    Soleil smiles at me with shiny lips. “That’s really sweet. She’s hard to pry away from her obsession. I’ll let her know for next time. Feel free to pop down, Jakob, if you want.”
    â€œOkay, thanks,” I say, thinking what I’ve just heard would be enough to keep anyone away.
    â€œHey, J-man, I wonder if you could do me a favour.” Soleil comes over and sits on the couch. She smells like peach perfume.
    I don’t move over, even though her leg’s touching mine a little. “What?”
    â€œTomorrow morning we’re going out of town for a few days and I was hoping you could water our plants.” She eats a piece of pickled ginger off my plate. “I’ll pay you.”
    I sit up. “Really? How much?”
    â€œYou don’t need to do that, Soleil,” Aunt Laura says. “He’ll do it any —”
    â€œHow much?” I ask again.
    â€œTen bucks.”
    â€œSure. You want me to do anything else?”
    â€œDo you mop floors?” She laughs. “Don’t worry about it, J-man. The watering can will be on the counter.”
    â€œThat’s very nice of you, Soleil,” Aunt Laura says, and offers her a cup of tea.
    â€œThanks, but I have to get going,” Soleil says. “We’ll be back by the end of the week.”
    She floats out and we’re left with the hero of the bad movie stuck flying across the TV screen.
    â€œWell, that’ll give you one thing to do,” Aunt Laura says from the sink. The dishes clatter.
    I stare at the TV for a few minutes, but it’s pathetic. The hero’s going to beat the bad guys and rescue the girl from the coffin she’s locked in. It’s always the same.
    â€œYou know, I heard there’s a mountain biking camp at the rec centre,” Aunt Laura calls over her shoulder.
    I take that as my cue to exit. “I’m going to my room,” I say. “To read.”
    â€œWhat about the movie?”
    I let her figure that one out for herself.
    Mom and I are making a cake for Dad — a surprise carrot coconut cake that he’ll flip over because it’s his favourite and we’ve been really good at pretending we’ve forgotten his birthday. Mom’s stirring in the flour and then the mustard — I know it’s a dream when I ask her about the mustard and she says it’s the secret ingredient
. Let’s eat it for dinner,
she says
. You’re always asking for dessert first.
Real Mom would never do that either — vegetables are really important to her. She asks me to get the milk, but when I open the fridge door there isn’t food on shelves, just a doorway onto a dark, empty street. I don’t want to, but I step through, and then I’m back in the same old dream: the heartbeat of the car echoes in my head as I start the search all over again. The streets are empty, silent and still, like a photograph I’m running through. The urge is so strong it chokes me, but I run faster — I have to find
it.
    I gasp for air and wake up on the floor in my