Bound For Home

  For Emile, Buckey, Piper, and Marzipan.

  When I’m with you, I’m home.

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  The Trail Preview

  Copyright

  THE SWEAT TRICKLED down from Emi’s scalp, weaving its way through her hair until it slid, itchy and warm, across the nape of her neck. She sat, trying to keep still as a stone, her back pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree, listening to the snorts of the bear behind her.

  It was ripping through a honeycomb, gobbling up the hunks of honey-dipped wax, unbothered by the enraged bees trying to penetrate its rough fur with their tiny venom-tipped stingers.

  Emi glanced down at the dog wriggling in her arms. His panting mouth was lifted in a sloppy, pink, dippy smile, but there was a determined wiggle to his butt that meant business. For some reason she could not understand, Max was fighting her.

  “Shh, Max, shh. We have to be quiet,” she whispered to him.

  Behind her, the bear grunted. The bushes rustled, twigs snapping under its weight. She could hear it panting.

  Emi’s muscles tensed, screaming at her to flee. But she knew Max would never be able to keep up with her. Not with only three good legs. She had to keep him hidden. She had to keep him safe.

  Max had other ideas. With a powerful squirm, he pulled out of her arms and lunged around the tree, a whine in his throat.

  Emi sprang up to bring him back and found Max standing motionless, paw raised and nose pointed, his eyes glued to something that the bear was heading toward. She followed his gaze past the bear to a bright patch of silky red fur shining through the grass in the middle of the field.

  It was a cat. And for some reason, Emi’s goofball of a dog was willing to risk exposure to a four-hundred-pound predator in order to protect it.

  Emi’s heart skipped a beat. A pulse of fear rose up through her throat. Even when she swallowed, she could still taste it. As she watched the cat leap away toward the opposite end of the field with the bear closing in on it, Max began to howl.

  “Max, what are you doing?” Emi cried, expecting the bear to train its ravenous eyes on them.

  Max howled again, and the cat turned. Although Emi was running for her life, she looked back, and in that moment, Emi saw that the cat knew Max. And that Max knew the cat and cared for it. And somehow, in knowing that, Emi understood the cat was something that she had to protect, too. Because Max, with his injured leg, couldn’t.

  Max took a step forward.

  Emi tapped his snout once, gently. “Sit,” she whispered. She would not let Max put himself in danger. Not again. She leaned close to Max and brought her face up to his. Her dark chestnut eyes met his big chocolate ones.

  Max took another step.

  “Sit,” Emi repeated.

  Max stood; his head tilted to one side. Emi could almost see the wheels whirling around in his brain. He didn’t sit, but he also didn’t move.

  Emi kissed him on his nose, once. Then she straightened herself up and strode around the tree to face a hungry bear over a cat.

  As she charged, she heard a rustle behind her.

  No. No, no, no.

  Max was coming. And there was no time to do anything about it.

  FOUR MONTHS AGO …

  Max’s Guide to Escaping from the Local Animal Shelter: Attempt #7

  1. The night before attempt #7, use your teeth. Chew. Chew. Chew. Eventually, you’ll get through those pesky metal bars.

  2. Then, in the morning, wait until after kibble time. Breakfast is the best six seconds of the day and should not be abandoned for ANY reason.

  3. Do not attempt an escape while humans are in the room. Especially if they have collars or nets. Or are very fast. Or know you’ve tried to escape six times and watch your every tail wag.

  4. Once you’ve gnawed your way out of the kennel, you still have to make it down the hallway, past all the other barking dogs (don’t stop to sniff butts or you’ll lose precious time), and beyond the receptionist’s desk.

  5. You haven’t made it past that desk yet, but you’re confident that once you do, an exit door can’t be far away. The humans have got to leave from somewhere.

  6. If you make it outside, you’re free. There’s no reason why the shelter staff would chase you down. Absolutely no reason at all.

  When the kennel room door opened and the lights clicked on, signaling the start of a new day, Max stopped chewing the bars of his cage and studied his work. In the dark, he could have sworn that the bars were about to give way. Now, looking at them, he could see that the clever humans had won that round. The bars were covered with his spit, and there were flattened little dents in the metal, but the bars were still very much intact.

  Attempt #7 was no good.

  It was time for attempt #8! Max stood in his kennel, his tail thumping, as he watched a shelter worker drag a rolling bin full of dog food across the floor. When she reached the first kennel, she opened the bin and withdrew a scoop half-full of kibble. Opening the kennel door, she dropped the kibble into the dog’s food bowl. Max could hear the snuffing and snorting of the dog gobbling up his food.

  The woman opened four more kennel doors before she reached Max.

  “Good morning, Max,” she said, opening his door and dumping a scoop of kibble into his bowl. “Chow time!”

  Max woofed. The food never changed, but he loved every bite. After devouring each little piece of kibble, he licked his bowl, around his bowl, and under his bowl, then his chops to make sure he had gotten every last bit.

  Breakfast had been eaten. It was time for ESCAPE!

  A few minutes later, another staff member came into the room. She clipped a leash to Max’s collar. “Play time, buddy!” she told him. She gathered four more dogs from their cages. Leading the dogs out of the kennel room, she marched everyone down the hallway and toward a door that led to the outdoor play area.

  As they reached the door, Max impulsively made his move. He leaped over one of the other dogs, then threaded his body under another, tangling his leash between the two of them. Then he grabbed his leash in his mouth and tugged as hard as he could. All the dogs collided together into a mess of yelps and teeth.

  The shelter worker lost her hold on all the leashes as the dogs descended into furry chaos.

  Max ducked under the other dogs and bolted toward the front of the animal shelter. Skidding around a corner, nails scrabbling along the waxed floor, he slipped and did a full rollover, his giant paws tumbling in the air, before regaining his footing. As he galloped past the receptionist’s desk, his heart thumped happily. He’d done it! He had gone farther than he’d ever gone before!

  Something hard hit him square in the snout, and he bounced back, confused. He shook his head, ears flapping against his cheeks, then ran forward again. Just before his nose
collided for a second time with the invisible wall, he caught a glimpse of a dog staring at him. Big wide eyes. Short brown fur. A blunt head that seemed too big for its body, and one long tongue dangling from its mouth.

  Hey, that looks like my tongue, Max thought as he hit the glass door, leaving a trail of slobber in his wake.

  “Gotcha!” The shelter worker grabbed Max’s collar and quickly clipped a leash to it. “You’re going straight back where you came from,” she scolded as she led him to his kennel, then locked the door.

  Max peered out from between the bars and thumped his tail.

  Tomorrow. There was always tomorrow for escape attempt #9.

  THE PISCATAQUIS COUNTY animal shelter was a squat yellow building with a sloped tin roof, along which a line of icicles dropped down like a row of jagged teeth. It was only February, but three months of Maine winter storms had already left hulking snowbanks piled up along the sidewalk.

  A rusty gray pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and came to a halt. From the passenger seat, Emi heard the engine click off. For a few moments, she sat stiffly, listening to the ticking of the metal as it cooled.

  She peeled back the wrapper of her Snickers bar, the soothing crinkle of plastic in her ears as she exposed the lush dark brown chocolate underneath. She finished up the last bite and shoved the wrapper deep into her pocket. The candy-peanut-nougat taste swirled around her mouth, intoxicating. As she swallowed, comfort and relief flowed down her throat.

  Emi knew that the pinpoint of sugary joy would soon be replaced by a crash that would send her stomach and feelings plummeting. But food was a comfort for her ever since her mom had died. A bag of Cheetos or a toasted strawberry Pop-Tart could distract her senses and take her mind off her problems.

  “Well, now,” said Jim as he pulled the key from the ignition. “We’re here.” He dropped the key into the pocket of his faded winter coat and patted the salt-and-pepper hair poking out from his thick winter cap. “You ready to meet some dogs?” he asked.

  Emi avoided her foster dad’s eyes. “You know, I really don’t have to be part of this. I’ll probably be gone in a few weeks anyway, and whatever dog we pick won’t even have the chance to get to know me.” She hated how the words sounded—whiny and ungrateful—but she threw them out anyway. They were her protection.

  Protection. Emi’s hand automatically touched a slim jade bracelet around her wrist. She twisted it, like she always did when she thought about that word.

  The bracelet had been given to her three years ago, on her ninth birthday. “It will keep you safe,” her mom had told her, sliding the ring of green-and-white stone past Emi’s hand and onto her left wrist, where it hung tight as an embrace. Emi had promised her mom she would never take it off.

  Then her mom had died a year later, and with her father gone, lost in a lobster boating accident right before she had been born, Emi had become completely alone. The bracelet had been the only thing that she had been allowed to take with her.

  That was when she had started using her words as a shield to keep herself from needing to trust or depend on anyone else. After three foster placements in three different towns, Emi was tired of trying to get close to people. Of smiling and acting grateful and cloaking her rage and hurt at being shuffled around like a deck of cards behind thank yous and yes pleases.

  And when her newest foster family, Jim and Meili (she couldn’t and wouldn’t call them Dad and Mom even though they had suggested it a month ago, on the first day she had come into their house, which had been so tidy and cozy it had made her want to suffocate), had asked if she would be okay if they adopted a dog, Emi had said, “Sure, whatever,” without actually meaning it.

  “Meili and I have been looking to get a dog for some time, and we want you to help us choose,” Jim said. “And I don’t think you’ll be gone so fast. We like you, Emi. And even though you don’t want to believe it, we want you with us.”

  “Fine.” Emi fumbled for her seat belt and unclicked it. She crammed a chunky woolen hat onto her head before stepping out into the frosty morning.

  Picking her way across the black ice, she waddled her feet like a penguin, with her arms stretched out, until she reached the safety of the sidewalk. Her boots found traction as they crunched against the road salt, and she was able to walk steadily up to the glass double doors that served as an entrance.

  Just as she reached it, she saw a dog pelting past the front desk, a long leash snaking behind him. Before she could react, he leaped up and plastered himself straight into the glass, his nose squashed not an inch away from her stomach.

  Emi stood frozen as the dog looked up at her, his dark brown eyes full of astonished surprise. He backed up and shook his head, then ran at the door again. Before he could reach it, a woman ran up to him and grasped his collar.

  “Not again, Max!” The woman’s voice was muffled from behind the door, but Emi heard the dog’s name clear as a bell.

  As the woman led Max back past the front desk, Emi pulled open the door and went inside.

  “Hello, dear.” A silver-haired woman with tortoiseshell glasses perched upon her nose glanced at Emi from behind the desk. “May I help you?”

  “Yes. My foster father is looking to adopt a dog,” Emi said, her voice loud and firm.

  “That’s right, Barbara,” said Jim from behind her. He took off his jacket and folded it under his arm. “We were wondering if you had any that were good for a kid Emi’s age.”

  “Jim!” The woman beamed. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  Jim nodded. “Last time I saw you, you were just about to get hip surgery.”

  Barbara patted her side. “Got it replaced with titanium and plastic, and it’s as good as new. I’m even back to Tuesday-night hockey again.”

  “Barbara is the best goalie this side of the river,” Jim explained to Emi.

  Emi rolled her eyes. “Can we just get to the dogs?” she asked.

  She expected Barbara to be taken aback at her abruptness, but the older woman just laughed.

  “Girl has no time for chitchat,” Barbara said. “I can understand that. When I was her age, I found old-people talk boring, too.” She stood up. “I’ll go get Tess—she’ll introduce you to the animals.” She went into the hallway behind the desk.

  A few moments later, Tess appeared. She was the same woman Emi had seen catching the runaway mutt.

  “I hear you want to look at some dogs,” Tess said, giving Emi a quick glance before turning to Jim. “What kind are you looking for?” she asked him.

  Jim coughed. “Well, I think Emi should be in charge of that question,” he said.

  Emi lifted her gaze and spoke as clearly as she could. “What dog has been here the longest?” She wanted a dog that nobody else would take. Even though she had no doubt that she would be gone soon, off to yet another foster home once she messed up so badly that Jim and Meili wouldn’t want her anymore, at least the dog would find a home with them.

  Tess raised her eyebrows, but instead of acting shocked, like Emi expected, she laughed. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you,” she told Emi, her face relaxing into a smile. She motioned for Emi and Jim to follow her down a hallway that smelled of wet fur and disinfectant, and stopped in front of a big blue door.

  “Come on inside,” she said.

  Beyond the door was a large room filled with cages. As Emi walked among them, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs came to her mind.

  She saw a Labrador retriever puppy with big brown eyes madly chasing its long, furry tail. Way too adorable. Emi thought about the seven dwarfs again. That Lab would be Happy. He’ll have no trouble finding a home.

  A snoring basset hound with ears folded over its head was Sleepy. He looked like the most boring dog in the world.

  Bashful was in the corner, a quivering dachshund trying to turn its hot-dog body into a tight bagel in the far corner of its kennel. Nope.

  Grumpy was a slobbery bulldog drinking sulkily from a bowl of
water. Emi stopped in front of Grumpy. She kind of liked his big, lumpy face, but then Tess called her over, and that’s when she saw Dopey.

  His oversize head was pressed up against the front of his cage, his jaws happily gnawing away at the thick metal bars. Short, sand-colored fur barely hid his pale pink skin, which was completely exposed along his underbelly. When Emi approached him, his ears perked up and he woofed at her, a bit of drool falling from his mouth.

  “Huh,” Emi said. She poked a finger through the cage, trying to scratch his head.

  “Emi, no touching until we know what that dog’s like,” Jim’s voice warned her.

  “This is …,” Tess began.

  “Max,” Emi finished. “I saw him at the front entrance.” She turned to Tess. “He’s been here the longest?”

  Tess hesitated before answering. “He has. And he’s actually very friendly. But … he’s a pit bull mix.”

  Emi waited for Tess to continue, but she didn’t. When the silence went on for too long, Emi asked, “So?”

  “A pit bull can have a reputation for being vicious,” Tess explained. “But that’s just because they’re often used in illegal dogfighting, where the dogs are trained to be extremely aggressive and to attack other dogs. When raised in a loving household, pit bulls can be the sweetest dogs around.”

  Emi looked down at Max. He had stopped gnawing at the bars and peered at her, his head cocked to one side. He looked even dumber than Grumpy.

  “Max is hard to place because a lot of people can’t see past what they think he’ll be,” Tess continued. “He was surrendered to the shelter by a family when they had their first child. Max hadn’t done anything, but the family was worried that he could bite the baby at any moment, and they didn’t want to take that risk.” She reached between the bars and patted Max on the head. “Most dogs only last a month or two at the shelter. Max has been here for nine, and at this rate, he’s going to be a shelter dog for life.”

  Emi imagined herself in Max’s place, watching hundreds of families pass by, never looking twice at this barrel-chested, yellow-toothed ball of muscle and fur that no one wanted to protect.