Dash & Lily's Book of Dares
Page 54
“Really!” Alice said.
“You too!” I said.
We made a cof ee date for the next day.
Who needed Dash?
Not me, for sure.
When I returned to our table, my cousin Mark was shooting up his chocolate directly into his mouth from the large plastic syringe.
“Fantastic!” he slurpily exclaimed.
“This is probably not fair-trade chocolate here, though!” Boomer explained.
“Did I ask your opinion?” Mark asked.
“No!” Boomer said. “But I don’t mind that you didn’t!”
There was a mat er on which I wanted Boomer’s opinion. “Did Dash like the Snarly Muppet I made him?”
“Not really! He said it looked like the spawn of if Miss Piggy and Animal had sex.”
“My eyes!” Mark said. No, he hadn’t shot chocolate into his eyes by mistake. “What a disgusting thought. You teenagers have such perverted ideas.” Mark set down his chocolate syringe. “You’ve made me lose my appetite, Boomer.”
“My mom tells me that all the time!” Boomer said. He turned to me. “Your family must be just like mine!”
“Doubt that,” Mark said.
My poor Snarly. I silently vowed to rescue my lit le felt darling and provide it the loving home that Dash never would.
“This Dash kid,” Mark continued. “Sorry, Lily. I just don’t like him.”
“Do you even know him?” Boomer asked.
“I know enough about him to pass judgment,” Mark said.
“Dash is a good guy, really,” Boomer said. “I think the word his mom uses to describe him is finicky, which is kinda true, but trust me, he’s good people. The best! Especially when you consider that his parents had a really nasty divorce and don’t even talk to each other at all anymore. How weird is that? He probably wouldn’t like me telling you this, but Dash got dragged through a terrible custody bat le when he was a kid, with his dad trying to get full custody just to spite his mom, and Dash having to go in to have all these talks with lawyers and judges and social workers. It was awful. If you got caught in the middle of that, would you manage to be a super-friendly person after? Dash is the kind of guy who’s always had to gure out everything for himself. But you know what’s so cool about him? He always does! He’s totally the most loyal friend a person could ever have. Takes a lot to earn his trust, but once you do, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
totally the most loyal friend a person could ever have. Takes a lot to earn his trust, but once you do, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
Nothing you can’t depend on him for. He can sometimes act a bit loner-ish, but I think that’s not because he’s some serial killer waiting to happen; he’s just his own best company sometimes. And he’s comfortable with that. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.” I admit I was moved by Boomer’s heartfelt defense of Dash, even if I was still mad about Snarly, but Mark shrugged. “Pshaw,” he said.
I asked my cousin, “Do you not like Dash because you genuinely think he’s unlikable or because there’s a bit of Grandpa in you, who doesn’t want me to have new friends who are boys?”
“I’m your new friend who’s a boy, Lily,” Boomer stated. “You like me, don’t you, Mark?”
“Pshaw,” Mark repeated. The answer was clear: Mark liked Dash just ne, so long as Dash wasn’t someone I could potentially be interested in. Boomer too.
Boris the dog who needed walking turned out to be more like a pony who needed sprinting. He was a bull masti who came up to my waist, a young buck with tons of energy who literally tried to drag me through Washington Square Park. Boris barely gave me time to tape the sign I’d created to the tree. The sign had the crimson alert photo in the middle with a message that said: WANTED—this teenage boy, not a pervert, not a hoodlum, simply a boy who likes yogurt. WANTED—this boy to explain himself.
I need not have posted the sign, however.
Because ve minutes after I posted it, Boris started loudly barking at a teenage boy who approached me as I scooped up the biggest piece of dog dung I’d ever seen.
“Lily?”
I looked up from my plastic bag filled with giant poo.
Of course.
It was Dash.
Who else would nd me at just this moment? First he found me drunk, now he found me cleaning up poo from a barking pony who was about to go into at ack mode.
Perfect.
No wonder I’d never had a boyfriend.
“Hi,” I said, trying to sound super-casual, but aware that my voice was coming out super-high-pitched and, indeed, somewhat Shrilly.
“What are you doing here?” Dash asked, stepping back a few feet farther from me and Boris. “And why do you have so many keys?” He pointed to the huge key ring clasped to my purse, which had the keys for all my dog-walking clients at ached to it. “Are you a building super or something?”
“I WALK DOGS!” I shouted over Boris’s barking.
“CLEARLY!” Dash shouted back. “But it looks like he’s walking you!”
Boris leapt back into action, dragging me behind him, with Dash running to our side—far to our side, as if not quite sure he wanted to participate in this spectacle.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Dash.
“I ran out of yogurt,” Dash said. “Went out to get more.”
“And to defend your good name?”
“You too!” I said.
We made a cof ee date for the next day.
Who needed Dash?
Not me, for sure.
When I returned to our table, my cousin Mark was shooting up his chocolate directly into his mouth from the large plastic syringe.
“Fantastic!” he slurpily exclaimed.
“This is probably not fair-trade chocolate here, though!” Boomer explained.
“Did I ask your opinion?” Mark asked.
“No!” Boomer said. “But I don’t mind that you didn’t!”
There was a mat er on which I wanted Boomer’s opinion. “Did Dash like the Snarly Muppet I made him?”
“Not really! He said it looked like the spawn of if Miss Piggy and Animal had sex.”
“My eyes!” Mark said. No, he hadn’t shot chocolate into his eyes by mistake. “What a disgusting thought. You teenagers have such perverted ideas.” Mark set down his chocolate syringe. “You’ve made me lose my appetite, Boomer.”
“My mom tells me that all the time!” Boomer said. He turned to me. “Your family must be just like mine!”
“Doubt that,” Mark said.
My poor Snarly. I silently vowed to rescue my lit le felt darling and provide it the loving home that Dash never would.
“This Dash kid,” Mark continued. “Sorry, Lily. I just don’t like him.”
“Do you even know him?” Boomer asked.
“I know enough about him to pass judgment,” Mark said.
“Dash is a good guy, really,” Boomer said. “I think the word his mom uses to describe him is finicky, which is kinda true, but trust me, he’s good people. The best! Especially when you consider that his parents had a really nasty divorce and don’t even talk to each other at all anymore. How weird is that? He probably wouldn’t like me telling you this, but Dash got dragged through a terrible custody bat le when he was a kid, with his dad trying to get full custody just to spite his mom, and Dash having to go in to have all these talks with lawyers and judges and social workers. It was awful. If you got caught in the middle of that, would you manage to be a super-friendly person after? Dash is the kind of guy who’s always had to gure out everything for himself. But you know what’s so cool about him? He always does! He’s totally the most loyal friend a person could ever have. Takes a lot to earn his trust, but once you do, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
totally the most loyal friend a person could ever have. Takes a lot to earn his trust, but once you do, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
Nothing you can’t depend on him for. He can sometimes act a bit loner-ish, but I think that’s not because he’s some serial killer waiting to happen; he’s just his own best company sometimes. And he’s comfortable with that. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.” I admit I was moved by Boomer’s heartfelt defense of Dash, even if I was still mad about Snarly, but Mark shrugged. “Pshaw,” he said.
I asked my cousin, “Do you not like Dash because you genuinely think he’s unlikable or because there’s a bit of Grandpa in you, who doesn’t want me to have new friends who are boys?”
“I’m your new friend who’s a boy, Lily,” Boomer stated. “You like me, don’t you, Mark?”
“Pshaw,” Mark repeated. The answer was clear: Mark liked Dash just ne, so long as Dash wasn’t someone I could potentially be interested in. Boomer too.
Boris the dog who needed walking turned out to be more like a pony who needed sprinting. He was a bull masti who came up to my waist, a young buck with tons of energy who literally tried to drag me through Washington Square Park. Boris barely gave me time to tape the sign I’d created to the tree. The sign had the crimson alert photo in the middle with a message that said: WANTED—this teenage boy, not a pervert, not a hoodlum, simply a boy who likes yogurt. WANTED—this boy to explain himself.
I need not have posted the sign, however.
Because ve minutes after I posted it, Boris started loudly barking at a teenage boy who approached me as I scooped up the biggest piece of dog dung I’d ever seen.
“Lily?”
I looked up from my plastic bag filled with giant poo.
Of course.
It was Dash.
Who else would nd me at just this moment? First he found me drunk, now he found me cleaning up poo from a barking pony who was about to go into at ack mode.
Perfect.
No wonder I’d never had a boyfriend.
“Hi,” I said, trying to sound super-casual, but aware that my voice was coming out super-high-pitched and, indeed, somewhat Shrilly.
“What are you doing here?” Dash asked, stepping back a few feet farther from me and Boris. “And why do you have so many keys?” He pointed to the huge key ring clasped to my purse, which had the keys for all my dog-walking clients at ached to it. “Are you a building super or something?”
“I WALK DOGS!” I shouted over Boris’s barking.
“CLEARLY!” Dash shouted back. “But it looks like he’s walking you!”
Boris leapt back into action, dragging me behind him, with Dash running to our side—far to our side, as if not quite sure he wanted to participate in this spectacle.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Dash.
“I ran out of yogurt,” Dash said. “Went out to get more.”
“And to defend your good name?”
