Chapter 2

It happened in the fall of my eighth grade.

Even now, I couldn't bring myself to think about it. I didn't even dare.

On my way home from school, I spotted a puppy by the trash heap behind the school.

It was tiny, barely bigger than my palm, so dirty that one couldn't tell what color it was. It was curled up in a battered cardboard box, shivering.

When I walked over, it lifted its head and looked at me, its eyes wet. Its tail gave a weak wag, then drooped.

I crouched down to look at it.

It was so skinny, its ribs sticking out, and there were spots where its fur had fallen off, exposing pink skin.

I couldn't tell if it was hungry or sick, but it kept trembling. Still, when it saw me, it tried its best to crawl one step toward me.

Just that one step.

My heart ached.

I looked around. There was no one around, no mother dog, not another box.

It had been left here to die.

I stood there, not moving, for what felt like ages.

I thought about leaving. I knew I couldn't bring it home. Mom would never go for it.

But those wet eyes kept staring at me, like it knew I was torn, like it was pleading with me.

I took off my school jacket, wrapped the puppy up, and carried it home in my arms.

When I walked in, Mom was cooking in the kitchen. I tried to sneak toward my room, hoping to hide the puppy before she noticed.

"Stop right there," Mom called out.

I froze.

Mom came out of the kitchen, still holding a spatula.

She saw the bundle I was carrying in my arms and frowned. "What's that?"

I lifted a corner of my school jacket, showing the puppy's little head. "Mom, I found it by the road. Nobody wanted it..."

"Throw it out," she interrupted me.

"Mom, it's dying," I begged.

"Throw it out," she snapped, her voice getting louder. "No dogs in this house. You know Angela's allergic to dogs, right?"

Since when was Angela allergic to dogs? I had never heard anything like that before.

But I kept my mouth shut, stood there clutching the puppy.

Dad came out from the back room, took one look at the scene, and let out a sigh. "Alright, leave it there for now. We'll talk about it later."

Mom glared at him but didn't say another word, then turned and went back into the kitchen.

I carried the puppy back to my room and closed the door behind me.

That night, I gave it a bath. It took three changes of water before the dirt finally washed away. Turned out, it was actually white, not yellow. Its fur was long, and after the bath, it was soft and stuck to its body.

I dried it off with a towel. It sprawled out on my lap and finally stopped shivering. Its eyes narrowed, almost like it was smiling at me.

I named it Snowy.

Yeah, it was a basic name. But it was mine.

For those few days, I kept coming up with ways to make sure Snowy could stay. I cleaned my room until it was spotless, and made sure it wouldn't run all over the place.

I gave it a bath and brushed its fur every day, worried it might smell. I bought dog food with my own allowance and hid it under my bed.

When the weekend came, I got up the courage to bring it up with Mom. "Mom, Snowy's super clean. I wash it every day, so it won't trigger any allergies."

Mom was watching TV and didn't look at me.

"And it's super well-behaved. It doesn't bark or make a mess. It would only hang out in my room," I said.

She still kept silent.

"Mom, I promise I'll take care of it myself. I won't trouble you or Dad at all," I pleaded.

"Alright, alright," Mom finally turned around. "Fine, you can keep it. But if it causes any problems, it's gone. No arguments."

I was stunned for a second, then couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Mom!"

That was the biggest smile I had all year.

Snowy became my best friend.

Snowy was my whole world.

Every morning when I woke up, Snowy would be waiting right by my bed, its tail wagging like a tiny propeller.

When I headed out for school, it would see me off at the door, nudging my hand with its wet nose.

After school, Snowy would always be sitting by the door, and the moment it saw me, it'd leap up and shower my face with endless kisses.

At night, while I did my homework, it would curl up at my feet, quiet as a fluffy little ball.

Sometimes, if I stayed up too late, it would get up, rest its head on my knee, and look at me with those big, moist eyes, like it was saying, "Time to sleep."

I'd pat its head and say, "Just a bit more."

Then it would settle back down and keep waiting.

One time, I totally bombed my math test, scoring only a C-.

I brought the paper home, too scared to let anyone see it. I couldn't stand the thought of my parents' cold stares or hearing them compare me to Angela again.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind a mess, unable to sleep.

Snowy jumped up and lay down beside me, nudging my hand with its head.

I held Snowy close, burying my face in its soft fur.

Its fur was so warm and gentle, carrying the scent of sunshine.

Snowy stayed perfectly still, letting me cuddle it, and every now and then, it'd lick my fingers.

I whispered to Snowy, "You're the only one."

Snowy wagged its tail.

"Only you like me," I added.

Snowy gave me another gentle lick.

That night, I fell asleep with Snowy in my arms. I slept deeply, without a single dream.

After that, I started telling Snowy everything whenever I felt upset.

Snowy couldn't understand my words, but it always listened. It would lie beside me, watching me with those big, wet eyes, its tail giving a little wag now and then, like it was saying, "I'm listening."

Mom wouldn't let Snowy leave my room, saying she was afraid it would run around the house.

So I played with Snowy in my room. I made toys out of old socks and tossed them for it to fetch. It bounded around, wobbling with every step, and it was hilarious.

Every time, I'd laugh so hard I couldn't stop, and Snowy would be as happy, its tail wagging so fast it looked like it might fly away.

I made a little bed for Snowy, using my old clothes.

Snowy loved it. Every night, it would snuggle in and curl up into a little ball.

Sometimes, I'd secretly watch Snowy while it slept, seeing its little belly rise and fall, and its legs kick every so often, like it was running in its dreams.

Those were the moments I felt safest.

At first, Angela was really interested in Snowy. She'd peek in through my doorway, craning her neck to get a look.

Whenever Snowy saw her, it would wag its tail, but never actually go over.

"Rust, does it bite?" she asked.

"No, it's super gentle," I replied.

"Can I pet it?" she pressed.

I thought for a second. "Sure, be gentle, okay?"

Angela came in, crouched down, and reached out to touch Snowy's head. Snowy stayed perfectly still and let her pet him.

She grinned. "Wow, it's so soft!"

That was the only time they ever got along.

After that, Angela stopped coming by so much, and it didn't bother me.

Snowy was mine, not hers.

Snowy was always by my side, waiting for me, watching me with those big, wet eyes.

That was enough for me.

I really thought it would always be Snowy and me living like this.