My Death, Chapter 1

“It’s not fair!”
Stacey jabbed at Robin. She nearly ran off the winding country road in the process.
“Hey!” shrieked Robin and nudged the wheel back for Stacey, who was laughing too hard, her blond hair getting in her face.
“You’ll kill us both!” Robin shrieked at her.
“Ask some one, or I will kill us!”
“No!”
“Oh!” Stacey pouted her glossy lips at the road in front of her, “Why not? If you don’t, I’ll be all alone with Jeremy at the dance, and I’m sure you’d like that!”
“Everyone’s already been asked,” Robin countered, looking out the window.
“Nu-uh, I could name five guys who haven’t been asked yet and are just dying to go.” Stacey, without looking, waggled a white, bony finger at her best friend.
“Then you ask them,” Robin replied, grabbed the finger in a fleshy tan fist. “I’d love to watch people kill themselves over who gets to kiss you goodnight.”
“Don’t be lame, Robin.”
“Fine. I'll ask one and you'll ask the other four.”
“I’m serious! Plenty of people want to go with you!”
“Name one.”
“Brent.”
Robin made a show of shuddering. “We’re just friends. It’d be weird.”
“Robert and I are just friends.” Stacey said helpfully.
“Friends who go to a movie every weekend and stay in the theatre an hour after the movie ends?”
“Once.”
“Twice.”
“We were talking!”
“With tonsils?”
“You weren’t even there," Stacey coolly pointed out. "You wouldn’t know. And don’t,” she quipped, making another poke at her best friend, “change the subject! Ah!”
The blue sports car suddenly jolted as if it went over a huge speed bump.
“What’d I hit?” Stacey exclaimed and squealed the breaks.
Robin was already pushing the passenger door open.
The terrier was one of those little, skinny, white ones with a red spot on its back.
“A dog,” she mouthed at Stacey through the windshield. Stacey, the dog lover, cupped her hands over her mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Robin really didn’t want to hear her friend cry; it sounded like a hyena coughing up a hair ball. Instead, she took off her windbreaker and wrapped up the tiny body. Its flank was caved in where the ribs should have been. As she held it in her arms and carried it to the side of the road, her heart sank. It was still breathing.
“Is it ok?” Stacey panted from behind her. Robin could already hear the sobs forming in Stacey’s throat.
“It’s fine,” she lied. “Is your car ok?”
Stacey raced back. Robin let go of her breath and laid the little dog down. She unfolded her jacket to assess the damage. Its leg wasn’t natural and its rib cage shuddered, looking like wind over water. To make it even better, the puppy—for it couldn’t be very old—started to regain consciousness. It made the most pathetic whimpers.
Robin bit her lip and brushed her brown hair behind her ear. A second’s hesitation, then she grabbed the puppy’s quivering snout and wrenched it sharply to the left. Its whimpers stopped. Robin felt her heart freeze.
“Is it ok?” Stacey said, returning more composed.
“It’s dead,” Robin answered. “I’ll bet it belongs to that house over there.”

Robin told Stacey to call her dad and let him know about the car, which had a small dent in the bumper. Robin, little dog body in her arms, crossed the street behind the sportscar because Stacey could never handle blood.
The small lawn belonged to an equally small, white house. It had hula-hoops and tricycles in the driveway. Without pausing, Robin climbed the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell, nestling her jacket into the crook of her arm to do so. Answering was a little boy who looked about nine with brown hair and bare feet. He looked at her vaguely. Behind him was a woman in dirty jeans.
“Yes, what is it?” the young mother asked with a tired and polite smile.
“Is this your dog?” Robin said, uncovering the terriers face. The boy’s face changed from blandness to shock. Silent, it stayed there.
“Dandy?” he asked. Then in a moment his freckled face screwed up. Surly and reverent, the boy took his dog out of Robins arms. She bent down so he could do so. He marched past Robin down the steps and around behind the house out of sight.
“Alex?” His mother called. She followed him, wringing her hands. Robin was left standing awkwardly on the porch and shivered. It was still early spring and quite cold without a jacket.

Back in the blue car, Stacey was tapping at her phone.
“Was it theirs?”
“Yeah,” Robin answered, clicking in her seat belt.
“Too bad,” Her friend murmured, starting the car.
As they rumbled down the road, Stacey continued, “Anyway, who are you going to ask?”