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Chapter One

Friday March 14, 2008

11:49am

Today's the day.

It wasn't the first time he had thought those words to himself. In fact, it had become some sick Monday-Wednesday-Friday ritual. Psyche self up. Today, today, today. Wait for class to end. Run for the hills. But no, Today's the day, he told himself again, and he felt like he really meant it. Not like that was a first either.

The German shepherd sat himself straight, leaning back 'gainst the cheap plastic of his chair with what nonchalance he could and letting his eyes raise over three rows of students sat before him, some dutifully slouched over, nodding from their notebooks to the head of the classroom, others, like the German shepherd in the fourth row, eagerly watching the clock. But the others watching the clock were merely doing what students all across campus were doing: counting down to spring break.

Tyson took a deep breath, noticed his feet tapping underneath the desk and tensed his paws.

At the head of the long room, Miss Rokem smiled about, aware of where her students concern lay in the moment and glanced to a watch on her wrist. A tension filled the room, exacerbated by the sound of a nearby classroom dismissing. More eyes gravitated to the clock on the wall.

Today's the day, Tyson repeated to himself. It had to be. His eyes sharpened, and he attempted to will time faster. The effect was oppositional.

Then, finally, Miss Rokem shook her head, and her deep, warm voice wished the class a pleasant spring break.

Tyson left his own chair with a groan, slowly stretching his arms and forcing a yawn. Deliberately, he slipped his economics notes into his backpack, stretched slowly again and looked about the room, wishing it empty.

The chocolate Lab beside him let out a baritone drawl. “See ya."

Tyson's eyes flicked over. “Oh. See ya, Charlie."

And while the Labrador joined a queue gathering at the doorway Tyson attempted to rationalize the situation to his pounding heart. Come on. Don't get nervous now. If it doesn't work, just kill me.

A soft, self-deprecating laugh left his muzzle.

He waited for the room to clear before starting forward, coming to a halt when his professor's eyes rose to meet his glance.

“Have a nice break, Tyson."

“Actually, Miss Rokem?"

Tyson froze at the professor's desk, paws tensed into fists.

“Hmmm?"

When it came to girls, the young German shepherd had always been picky: petite, dark-haired, blue-eyed. The girls he'd dated in high school had ticked each box. But ever since the second semester of his university life, ever since his first day in Basic Economics, Tyson had experienced a drastic change in taste.

Deliciously-plump, with copper-brown hair spilling down her neck and broad shoulders, Miss Rokem stood an inch taller than himself. She was also older, by how much he wasn't sure, but old enough for a PhD and a professor title. The fox's golden irises held a warm, tender quality, and like the rest of her build, her muzzle was uncharacteristically broad for a vulpine.

“There's something I need to ask you about . . . if you have a sec." Tyson tried to keep his face neutral—his eyes held by the fox's affectionate gaze. He held his breath.

Miss Rokem glanced to her watch again and took a moment to consider. “I'm going to have lunch in my office if you want to come with."

A wave of excitement swept over Tyson, made evident by a large tail-wag, and he quickly blurted, “Works for me!"

So far according to plan.

“Let me grab this," said Miss Rokem, plucking a small purse from the floor and slinging it over a dark, neatly-buttoned blazer, “and I'm ready."

It was a mercifully short trip to the fox's office: a few hundred feet of glossy, white vinyl tile. The upper corridor of Sanford Hall was empty, save for a bristly-looking boar who pushed a broom and trash cart in the other direction.

Miss Rokem arrived at her unmarked office door, drew a set of keys from a pocket in her long white skirt. “You don't have class now?" she asked.

Tyson shook his head.

The room was small, orderly and windowless. A computer desk, a chair at either end, covered in papers and office hardware served as the room's centerpiece. Miss Rokem set her purse at a clear spot on the desk and ducked around it. “So, how can I help?" she asked, then reappeared with a plastic container in her paws.

After surveying the office space, Tyson folded his arms and gnawed his lip. “Well, ya see," he began, heart hammering his chest. Paws shaking at his sides. The shepherd sighed.

The fox's face grew more serious, and she set her food down. “Tyson, what's the matter?"

Come on. You didn't come this far to puss out.

The smooth words Tyson had crafted for the big moment left him, leaving him only the most basal, brain-dead approach.

“Would you go out with me?"

Humiliation. Regret. Horror.

His words hung in the air. Tyson couldn't bear to see the fox's response. His eyes went to his black sneakers. He wasn't typically prone to such self-consciousness.

A prolonged silence didn't ease his despair.

Then, Tyson felt a presence moving past him and heard a footstep, followed by a dull clunk as the office door closed.

She left.

He wanted to laugh at himself, but, again, Tyson managed only a sigh. The young shepherd rolled his head back and stared at the empty chair across the desk from himself and suddenly realized that the day was just a day to forget.

“That's a question I wasn't ready for."

Tyson nearly jumped.

Reappearing again, Miss Rokem slipped behind her desk and unsealed a strong-smelling salad, then fixed her student with a nonplussed look. “Tyson, sit down. Let's talk." The fox gestured a paw to the chair before Tyson.

The shepherd knew that tone of voice—the tone of somebody trying to soften the blow. He dropped back into the rolling chair but couldn't bring himself to look from his lap. He wanted to be in his dorm room, not trapped in this claustrophobic cubical where embarrassment pressed in from all sides.

“Tyson, how old are you?"

“Eighteen," grumbled the shepherd.

“And how old do you think I am?"

Unsure of how to respond, Tyson glanced at the professor and shrugged. Thirty, he might have guessed if not for the lingering sensation of taking a hard one to the gut. Thirty-five?

“I'm forty-three. I have a daughter who's older than you, not to mention I'm your professor."

A daughter?

Tyson felt even more stupid. He had never heard the fox mention family. He had only noticed an absence of rings.

“Look, spring break is right around the corner," the fox continued. “You've got plenty of classmates your own age who I'm sure you have much more in common with."

The shepherd gave an indifferent grunt. Sure, there were plenty of attractive girls on campus, but none of them had been stuck in his head since January.

A short, yipping laugh then broke Miss Rokem's muzzle. “You're a handsome young dog. I'm just doing you a favor."

“Sorry," murmured Tyson, defeated. He began to stand, slowly rising to his feet and turning towards the door to the hall. A bit of fresh air, that's what he needed. Maybe a rock to crawl under. “I didn't know you were married. I wouldn't have—"

“Divorced," corrected the fox. “It's 'Miss' for a reason."

Tyson said nothing, tried to come up with a farewell that would alleviate at least some of his embarrassment, but the fox spoke first.

“And if you're serious about this, I'll agree to one date."

Certainly he had misheard. Tyson's eyes widened at the door.

What.

Sensation returning to his fingers and toes, a dumbstruck look upon his face, the shepherd glanced over his shoulder.

The fox smiled. “I won't go charging into a relationship, but I could use a date. It's been a while."

“But," stammered Tyson, and he swung around to face his professor. “Wait, really?"

“Where are you taking me?"

Holy shit.

In a rushed voice, the shepherd excitedly proposed, “Ruben's—for dinner—if you can do it."

“Tonight?"

“If you're free," said Tyson, his tail waving to and fro.

“You've got yourself a date," said Miss Rokem. “I'll need your number so we can get everything set."

Tyson spilled his digits before the professor could reach for her phone, and after repeating them the shepherd blurted, “But I thought you said you couldn't do this with a student."

The professor smirked, setting her phone down to replace it with her fork. “Well, it's not that I can't_._ There are just a few things that I'll need to take care of." Miss Rokem sighed and took a bite of salad.

A nervous laugh escaped Tyson, and he backed towards the door. “Oh, okay." Disbelief clouded his mind.

“Tyson, please don't tell anybody about this. That would make things much easier on me."

Quickly nodding, Tyson reassured the fox. “You bet! I won't tell anybody, I promise."

“You get going. I'll see you later."

As he closed the door, Tyson grit his teeth. He noted the emptiness of the hall and how his paws quavered at his side. After turning down the steps to the first floor the young shepherd launched himself into the air, fists clenched victoriously. Fuck yes.

He laughed and made a more voluntary shake of his paws. “Dinner tonight," he said to himself in the now empty hall. “This is insane."

He was still laughing when the cellphone in his pocket vibrated. He flipped the phone open to see a text from a number he didn't recognize, and his smile grew a notch.

“you're crazy. does 530 work? ill text my address later."

* * *

5:15pm

With a deep, growling note, Tyson rolled through a quiet neighborhood two miles east of campus. The shepherd's eyes swept over old houses on either side of the weathered roadway. Little Cape Cods and flat ranch-style homes with long, snowy yards, the occasional blue-green spruce jutting from the snow's white and the drab shades of wood or vinyl siding.

“There it is," he said, coasting to the curb before a small two-story home with one of the long and snowy front yards, a single spruce tree growing from its heart. After comparing the house numbers near the door to the address on his cellphone, Tyson took a deep breath and stepped into the brisk March air.

“And here we go."

A hazy feeling of bliss had accompanied the shepherd throughout the afternoon, everything taking on a surreal quality, a newfound glow. His two-hour break between ECON 105 and PSY 240 had been spent restlessly bounding about his dormitory room, re-reading the text from Miss Rokem a few dozen times and wishing that 5:30 could come faster. When he could no longer stand the wait, he had slipped out of his hoodie and sweats in favor of the nicest jeans and shirt in his wardrobe.

The young shepherd managed a chuckle at himself, nervously straightening the collar of his all-black button-front as he walked up the gravel drive. A Honda Civic hatchback sat just outside a single-car garage, drawing his gaze until he nearly tripped over a step leading from the driveway to the front walk. He hoped that his professor wasn't watching from one of the front windows and put his attention forward. The four-step porch was a smoother climb, and it led the shepherd to his professor's front door.

One last chance to chicken out.

Tyson shook his hesitation away, punching a small button beside the door frame.

-Ding-ding- rang the doorbell.

The shepherd tried to look anything but as apprehensive as he felt. Chill, he told himself, taking a deep breath. He had never felt so nervous for a date before. Chill.

Through the fogged glass of an old storm door, Tyson saw the main door, white, windowed with a red-and-white plaid curtain laid over it, swing aside. His eyes widened before he could think to compose himself.

Miss Rokem had always dressed for the classroom in a reserved manner—drab blazers, dark pants, draping cardigans—but in the doorway of her home, a dark-blue dress stood in sharp contrast to the fox's reddish-orange fur.

“You're early," she said, sounding pleased.

Grinning sheepishly, Tyson scratched at his temple with a short claw. “Sorry, not too early?"

“No, that's fine," said the fox. “Just let me lock up."

Tyson stepped back on the porch to further admire his date. The blue dress fell just short of her knees, gently clinging to her round, womanly hips. As Miss Rokem turned, Tyson's eyes went to the yard. “We'll take my car, if that's alright," he said, and he nervously offered an arm. The fox accepted.

“My, what a gentleman," remarked Miss Rokem. “And you look very nice."

The soft touch of the fox's arm made the breeze sweeping through the neighborhood feel so distant. “Thanks," said Tyson. “You look great."

As they shuffled down the driveway, Miss Rokem eyed the vehicle on her curb. Her eyes narrowed. “We'll fit in that?"

Tyson grinned.

As Porsches went, the 944 was a little boxy, its V4 a little lacking in power for some, but it was still distinctively Deutsche, and it was Tyson's pride and joy. The little red coupe, brought into the world in 1983 and gifted to Tyson in his junior year, represented some hundred hours of hard work. He had poured everything into the 944, quitting baseball so that he could pay for tools and parts when his mother had told him she saw no reason to replace parts that weren't broken, studying the Porsche 944 repair manual as a religious text and driving with his school friends every chance they'd had.

After helping the fox into the 944's passenger seat, Tyson settled himself behind the steering wheel and looked over. “Have you been there before—to Rubens?" he asked.

Miss Rokem's eyes roamed about the cramped interior. “It's been a while, but I've always loved their food. I didn't picture you to be the car type, no offense."

“No worries," Tyson chuckled. He clutched and ignited the Porsche, letting the car rumble to life. “I hope you don't mind this," he added, brow rising. “If it's too uncomfortable we can take your Civic."

“I'm fine," replied Miss Rokem, smiling at the younger canine. “You aren't messing up your spring break plans for this, are you?"

“Oh, no. I don't really have anything going on."

“Do you live on campus?"

“Yeah. I'm in the dorms, but I'm going to my parents' place in Sandy for the week."

“Sandy? Well, that's not too far."

The fox added a somewhat musky, flowery aroma to the car, one which Tyson found himself enjoying as they rolled down the street at an easy gait. The young shepherd fought to keep his eyes on the road as traffic grew dense.

Interstate 60 sliced through the heart of Elliotsville, Indiana, with the campus and Elena's home falling south of it. The Big Eagle River served to divide the city into eastern and western halves. Ruben's was fifteen-minutes north—across interstate and along the eastern bank of the Big Eagle. The student-teacher pair was directed to an empty set of booths at 5:45.

“Can I get you started with anything to drink?" a young waitress asked as the mismatched pair settled into their table. The young, round-faced chipmunk flashed a notepad and a professional smile.

Wonder if she's NISU, Tyson thought while he paged through a menu. The Northern Indiana State University fielded some twenty thousand college students: Tyson included.

“I'll take an iced tea," said Miss Rokem. “Raspberry if you have it."

“Raspberry iced tea . . . For you, sir?"

Tyson cocked his head slightly. “Water's fine. Thanks."

He glanced at his date, and the fox looked back. Light of the warm, colorful restaurant reflected in her eyes. Tyson turned to hide a gulp and examined his surroundings. “It's nice in here," he remarked.

“It is. It's always been one of my favorite places in town. Not sure why I waited so long to come here again."

There was a short silence.

“So, Miss Rokem—"

“Elena."

The interruption froze Tyson.“E-Elena—" he stuttered.

“We're not in class. What were you saying?"

“I was wondering what sorta stuff you like to do when you're free."

“Hmmm." The fox clucked thoughtfully. “Well, I like to travel and visit new places when I get the chance. Otherwise I like to read and watch movies—do some yoga in the morning."

The yoga bit reminded Tyson of his mother a bit too much, but the shepherd smiled over his menu. “Cool. Hope ya get to go somewhere fun this week."

“Already have," Elena replied.

Tyson's tail flicked, and a stupid grin formed on his muzzle.

“And what about you, Tyson?"

“Eh, I guess I don't really do much right now," the shepherd admitted. “I just hang around campus and try to keep my car running."

“Is that a lot of work?"

“Sometimes, but I guess I don't mind it." Tyson paused when the chipmunk reappeared and set a glass of water at his reach.

“Are you two ready or do you need a few more minutes?"

“Ready if you are," said Elena, folding her menu shut.

Tyson nodded and double-checked the title of his dish. “Let's do it."

Fifteen minutes flew by. Tyson was reassuring the fox that she wasn't interfering with any spring break plans when his chicken dish arrived, and after thanking the waitress he armed himself with a knife and fork, grinning over the table at Elena.

“No, it's fine. Really. I told them I'd be getting there a little late so they won't be worrying."

“Told them you have a big date?"

Smirking, Tyson shrugged. “No. Should I have?"

“Well, I won't condone lying to your mother." Elena smiled over her plate. “But sometimes it's okay to spare the details."

* * *

7:07pm

“That was delicious, Tyson. I'm glad you invited me out."

With full stomachs and loosely-tangled arms, the canine pair strolled through Ruben's busy parking lot.

“I still wish you'd let me pay," said Tyson, frowning as he helped the fox back into his car.

“Oh, please. There's no way I'd let you pay, college boy."

“I hope I get a chance to return the favor."

The optimism creeping into his voice betrayed a somber realization that, while the date had been a blast, he doubted the fox was interested in a follow-up. Chalk one up to the old “Too good to be true" adage. Well, that's fine. A plummeting sensation in Tyson's chest protested that thought as he moved around the bumper and lowered himself into the driver seat.

“I'd love to," said Elena.

The shepherd's eyes snapped over. “Really?"

Elena nodded, and Tyson busied himself with the 944's ignition.

“So, what now?" inquired the shepherd.

“Get yourself home."

“Hmmm." Tyson didn't want the date to end.

“Drop me off so you can get home. I don't need your family waiting up for you. Mother's do worry no matter what you tell them."

Tyson silently sighed and disengaged the Porsche's parking brake. “Alright." The shepherd, hearing disappointment in his voice, quickly added, “Can I call you sometime over spring break?"

“Of course you can."

Tyson put his eyes on the road ahead, and as they drove back beneath I-60, putting the lights and traffic of downtown in the rear-view, a comfortable silence settled over the car. Tyson made the observation that today really was the day and smiled at the thought.

In Miss Rokem's drive, the canines bid their farewell.

“Thanks for tonight," said the shepherd.

“It was fun, Ty."

Warm, red fur enveloped Tyson's neck and shoulders. He returned the embrace, taking a full breath of the flowery, musky scent, and the fox's muzzle came to rest upon his shoulder for a moment which Tyson wished would never end.

“Drive safe, okay?" Elena ducked under the roof of the coupe. “I'll be waiting for our next date. Goodnight."

“Goodnight."

Tyson waited until he was on interstate to unleash a howl of laughter. Waiting for our next date, he thought, fingers drumming the Porsche's steering wheel.