I’m just walking through the halls of the Junior High School, minding my own business, and humming along to my favorite song as I listen to it play on Pandora. All of a sudden, I round the corner and there he is. He’s doing the same thing as me, just wandering the halls before class, not really paying attention to anything, but strutting through the halls with confidence that makes me jealous. I am shy, quiet, and very bad at keeping conversations going. He’s the opposite: good at everything, and doesn’t boast about it. Time seems to slow; and I can see him coming closer. I gather up all of my nerves, so when we pass each other, I can say “Hi.” Time speeds up, and there he is. I try to speak, but all that comes out is the weirdest squeal I’ve ever heard. He glances up; so I try to walk faster, so he won’t see my face turning bright red. My heart's still pounding, but this time I’m angry. Oh why didn’t you say something?!? All you had to do was say hi! Oh you screwed it up AGAIN. I’m beating myself up. I hate that he makes me so nervous, I hate that I can’t talk to him. Breathing heavier with every step, I’m making my way down the hall, imagining a different scenario in which I had had the courage to actually say something. I hate the feeling I get, the feeling of regret. It’s the exact feeling that I have later the same day, when my mother takes me to the pound. We are dropping off some food and water for the dogs, like we do every Wednesday, but this time is different. In the very first section of the pound, there is what appeared to be a mother with a few puppies. I tug on my mother’s arm, giving a nod towards the cage. She asks the woman behind the counter about the dogs, and if there is anything that was being done for them. The woman frowns, and says that unfortunately the mother is sick, and the puppies won't have anyone to take care of them, and if they aren't adopted soon, they will have to be put down. I know my mother won’t take about six or seven puppies home, but my heart hurts to know what was going to happen to them. I beg on the way home to do something for them, but I know there is nothing I could do. The feeling is back, but not as regret. It’s sadness, anger, and just a jumbled up mix of emotions that pour out of me like soup as I cry secretly to myself. I stop crying, and turn to my mother. I can’t have it end like this. This would be the third time that a litter of puppies at the shelter would have to be put down, and I can’t stand not doing anything, especially when I have been given a third chance to help the litter. We pull in the driveway right is my sister is pulling out. I know she's going to the University down the road, right across from the shelter. I jump out of my mom’s car, hustle over to hers. “I’m not a taxi,” she says. “It’s an emergency,” I whisper. She turns, slowly squinting at me. “Ok. Where to, ma’am?” she jokes.

I get to the shelter, and it’s like a scene from a movie. There’s me, just standing there looking at the sign that blinks “Open”. My hair is chaotic, my backpack only swung over one shoulder. The bell on the door dings and I walk in. And suddenly, he’s there, the boy from school. I stop cold. What's he doing here? I freak out and ask myself. Nevermind, you're here for the dogs. I gather my courage, and walk to where the puppies and their mother were just a half hour earlier. My breath is ripped away from me as I spot the wrinkled blanket, on the floor of the cage. No puppies, no mother, anywhere. My heart is racing as I hold my breath now. As if the boy could magically read my thoughts, he spins around, saying “I'll show you.” I was utterly speechless. What does he mean, “I'll show you?” What has he done?” Some part of me is angry, and I realize that feeling is back, once more. I'm angry that he has beaten me to the goal I have come to achieve. I am sick to my stomach, but the other part of me really wants to trust him. I follow him outside, where a small truck is waiting, all nine dogs inside. He explains that he's going to take them home and have an adoption day, or keep them until he can find the right home for them. Again, I find myself at a loss of words. “The best part is, I need help, and I'm sure you could help me.” It is the best part; and finally that feeling, of sadness, anger, and regret, has subsided.