Getting Chased

Chapter 9

The walk to his apartment was short, considering he only lived two quick blocks away. The entire walk, I was tense with anticipation. We reached his door, which was painted an obnoxiously bright shade of cherry red, and glossed with clear. He lived on the top floor, but the building only had four.

He puts his key in the door, and a vicious barking erupts inside. My eyes widen. "You have a dog?"

Sam nods wordlessly, unlocking the door. "Careful, he jumps."

Then the door swings open, and a wiry black dog springs from wherever he was before. Sam gasps. "Potato!" The dog runs, leaping right on to Sam's chest. He puts his arms around the small dog, but pulls his face back when it tries to lick.

Sam sets the dog down, allowing it to give me a high security check. When he decides I am safe to be around Sam, he gives my leg a lick.

Oh shit. I'm still wearing my high school sweatshirt and my ugly purple shorts.

I lean down to pet the dog, hoping Sam hasn't honed in on my clothes choices. "So, his name is Potato?"

Sam nods proudly. "Found him in a potato sack on the bike lane of the highway. I planned to take him to the shelter, but I got attached."

I feel a smile stretching my cheeks. "That's really sweet of you."

Sam's cheeks turn pink. He waves it off. "Nah, just helped a buddy out." He reaches down and pets the dog who has now situated himself on my feet.

"Come on, I'll show you the living room." Sam takes the bag of Styrofoam takeout boxes from my hands and walks ahead. I follow behind him into a well lit square room with an L shaped couch pushed along the wall. A ginormous flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, and a bookshelf is built in on one wall, containing fiction literature.

"Wow, PR must pay well. Maybe it's not the worst to be an assistant." I admire his walls. It's no wonder he thought my apartment was drab and boring; his walls are decorated in photography, some encased in frames, some copied on canvas. There's electric pictures of taillights on the road, sophisticated images of sunsets on oceans. On the wall by the TV sits a large framed photo of Sam with two girls and another man.

I recognize the blonde buzzcut as Ian, but the two girls are, of course, strangers to me. I point to the thin black frame. "That's Ian, right?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, the one one the right is Ellie, my sister. The girl on my left is Leah. She passed away a couple years ago." Sam looks at the floor for a second, then shakes it off and opens his box of food.

I feel lost. What do people say now? I'm sorry? If anyone knows how sympathy sucks, it's me. I just can't find another way to say it.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Were you close?" I don't mean to pry, I just want to get a little more understanding of the situation.

He nods, clearly done with that conversation. "Yeah."

I sit next to him on the couch, opening my box of noodles. Ew, chow mein. I have nothing against Chinese food, but eggs and noodles will never go together.

I try to politely eat a bite, but the thought of someone dumping scrambled eggs into a pot of noodles makes me gag on the spot. Sam looks at me quizzically.

"Wait one second. Do you not like chow mein?" He asks cautiously.

I shake my head in dismay. "It's sick. In a bad way."

Sam gasps, taken aback. "What kind of swamp monster doesn't like Chinese noodles?"

Well that's a little far. "This swamp monster," I say, pointing at myself.