Boy on the Porch

OneThe house was bigger than he'd expected, and for a few seconds he stood on the sidewalk just staring. The last place he'd lived had been low and square and brown with prickly bushes that always scratched his arms when he was told to cut them. He ventured a few steps closer, his eyes wide, trying to take it all in. Lots of windows, and big enough to walk through if they'd been doors. They didn't just lay on the house like they were pasted there, they seemed to push the house back in some places and pull it forward in others. It must be like a maze inside with all those curves and angles. He walked carefully up the walk that was made with crooked flat stones that fit together like a puzzle. He'd never seen a stone puzzle. On either side, a lawn swept toward the house, sprouting flowers at the edges and some even in the middle. And trees. Not scrawny, limp, naked sticks stuck in wire jails, but tall and fat and kingly, dressed with leaves so thick and heavy they made noise even in the slight summer breeze. The front steps seemed to pour down to his feet from a porch with cushioned furniture, shiny tables, and baskets of flowers. It looked like an outdoor living room. All of this to thirteen-year-old Cullen Gallagher was a mind blower. He'd thought nothing would ever scare him after that night in the last foster home, but this place did. Not scary in a bad way; this was a good scare. A heart-pounding, can't-wait scare, a Christmas morning scare when, to his surprise, there really had been presents with his name on them. He stood up a little straighter, walked up the steps, grinning like Linc told him. "You're happy about this, so start with a smile. Don't cringe like some trespasser." He was happy; he was psyched. Cullen rang the doorbell and wished he'd done a better job scrubbing his hands. Women get pissed about dirty hands. Linc had told him that, too. He rang the bell again and waited. Guess they didn't have a maid or an official door-opener like he'd seen in movies about rich people. He liked that. He wanted them all to himself. Finally, when there was still no answer, he walked around the yard to the back. More flowers and a garage for two cars and another porch. And a dog. Uh oh. Cullen skidded to a halt as the large black, brown, and white animal came forward, then suddenly stopped. He didn't look fierce as much as he looked curious. Cullen pushed his hand into his pocket and came up with a dog biscuit. His mom had always carried cookies when she walked in case she encountered a dog. Weird how he'd thought of that when he'd been getting ready to go a few hours before. But like other things his mom had said, he remembered them when he needed to. Linc had laughed, but not in a funny way; he told him if some industrial-strength dog came at him, he'd be the one getting eaten and no biscuit would save him. To Cullen's relief, this one didn't growl or bark or charge him, he just looked. Cullen extended his hand, palm up, like his mother had told him. "Hey, boy, you the guard around here? Sure is a nice place. You like cookies?" At this, the ears came up and the animal sat, tilting his head slightly. Cullen tossed a biscuit toward the dog, who managed to snag it before it hit the ground. "Nice catch." The dog munched it down in two bites. Cullen threw another one and again the dog caught it, chewing and looking for more. Cullen eased his way toward the back porch, tossing biscuits like a trail of crumbs. "Hope they didn't get you to scare away robbers, boy. If they did, they got suckered." But he couldn't wait to tell Linc that the biscuit trick worked. On the porch, he knocked on the door and peeked in a side window to the kitchen. Jeez, he could throw a football in there and hardly ever hit a wall. The room had two sinks, pots hanging from the ceiling, and he could see a leather couch at the far endHolmes, Dee is the author of 'Boy on the Porch' with ISBN 9780425188156 and ISBN 0425188159.