and nothing but the truth
chapter eleven
"Lily!" A voice shouts as she's exiting a classroom one day. She sighs and adjusts her bag on her shoulder before turning around, sure it is her English professor there to demand why she hadn't been to his 9:00 AM lecture.
It isn't her professor – it's James, looking wonderful in a form-fitting black T-shirt (that reads, "The Clash") and jeans ripped generously at the knees. He jogs up to her, a smile already growing on his face. "Wotcher."
"Hey there," she greets, unable to keep from looking him up and down. "Where's Blackie?"
"Oh," he says dismissively, "outside somewhere. I thought I probably shouldn't take him into the building."
She quirks a grin, nodding in the direction of the classroom. "Well, it's probably best. The Trig professor is allergic to everything, dogs probably included."
"Just like my roommate," James grumbles as they start to move in the direction of the stairs. He takes them, two at a time, as she repeats confusedly,
"Your roommate?"
"Yeah." He shrugs, waiting at the foot as Lily carefully makes her way down (part of her is still wary for that vanishing step, but at least she knows these stairs don't move). "He's allergic to dogs, so he never lets me bring Blackie inside the house."
"But -" Remus isn't allergic to anything, she thinks, but she can't quite bring herself to say it. She'd either have to admit that she's been inside his apartment or – tell him they'd been talking about him. Neither option seems very appealing to her. For now, she decides, he doesn't have to know she's friends with Remus.
They traipse out of the building together, and he glances at her, almost expectantly, when they're finally outside. She notices this and shifts from foot to foot awkwardly.
"Do you have another class?" he finally asks. "I'll walk you there, if you want…"
"Oh…" she feels the heat rise to her cheeks, and, embarrassed that she is blushing, blushes even more. "I, er… I don't really want to go, to be honest."
Seeing his disappointed look, she says, "Do you have a class to go to?"
"Just two more," he admits, "but I'm failing anyway, so I don't see the point of going."
They glance at each other awkwardly.
"So," she finally ventures, "if we're both free, then… do you want to go get a bite to eat or something?"
A grin spreads slowly across James's face, and he pats her on the shoulder. "Lily, I thought you'd never ask."
The bite to eat, however, is quickly forgotten when Blackie bounds up, tongue lolling out, tail hurtling back and forth like a flag being waved. He looks atrocious – matted into his medium-length fur are dozens, if not hundreds of burrs, and mud has caked his coat until it stands up in stiff black little bristles.
"What on earth -" James kneels and grabs the dog's paw, staring at the blistered appendage. "Where did you go while I was gone?"
Blackie whines plaintively. Lily, too, drops to her knees, her eyes brimming with compassion.
"Oh, you poor dear, you look as if you've been running through the hills all day." She fixes James with a steely look, and he immediately goes on the defensive.
"Okay, so he was out last night. Fairly normal…"
She stroke's the dog's head tenderly, saying, "Let's go get him cleaned up, okay? We can eat later, he's obviously suffering."
James stares at the bright-eyed, smiling Blackie with disbelief. The dog wags his tail cheerfully. "Oh, yeah, he's definitely suffering. The mutt's bloody bipolar."
Some minutes later, after Lily all but forces James to carry the dog to her doorstep, Blackie is in the tub (now looking considerably less happy) and dripping wet, courtesy of the shower head.
"Human shampoo will have to do," Lily says, returning to the room and handing a plastic bottle to the miserable James, who is sitting on the floor eyeing Blackie with a mix of amusement and resent.
"Good," he says dully, staring at Lily. She stares right back. "Er, do you want me to -?"
"Yup," she replies. "Just lather it in."
"Right…" Tentatively, almost in disgust at the dog (who actually is not that filthy, after Lily painstakingly removed each burr, clump of matted hair, and tick from his fur with a pair of tweezers) he smears a glob of purple shampoo on the dog's back. Blackie licks his arm as if in encouragement. "Ew."
"It's not that bad," Lily points out, kneeling beside him to reach over and assist lathering Blackie's fur. "It's as if you've never given your dog a bath before."
"He's mostly feral," James explains. "I just put a collar on him so no one tries to take him to the SPCA."
"Oh, that's sweet of you." She smiles, and in a moment of devilish whimsy, he runs his hand across her cheek, smearing purple shampoo on her.
"Hey!" she cries, swiping at it – unfortunately her hand, too, are covered in the stuff. "What was that for?"
"Do I need a reason?" He offers her a naughty grin, and she responds by smearing purple all over the left side of his face. "Why you -"
Shampoo is flung all over their clothes as Blackie, as if wanting to be part of the fun, shakes himself vigorously and yelps in protest; Lily takes this opportunity to steal the bottle from a distracted James and pour a glob in his hair.
Growling, he nearly tackles her to the floor, splattering her with shampoo as he takes the container back. Lily shrieks as they wrestle over the bottle, squirting more purple goop on themselves in the process.
"Jaaames!"
Finally, James, the reclaimed bottle in on hand, rolls his body over hers and pins her to the floor as she wriggles in protest underneath. "I win," he says after catching his breath.
Lily stills and averts her eyes, and their position becomes evident as both blush bright pink. James scrambles off of her, heart pounding, feeling more embarrassed by what he just did than by the fact that everyone in the room is now completely lathered in purple, hair sticking every which-way.
The girl is the first to laugh, nervously at first but then hysterically as Blackie, still dripping and sullen, climbs out of the bathtub and onto James's lap.
Author's Note: What is a love story without a soap fight? For reals, this was really difficult to write, and probably more difficult to type. Whenever I hit writer's block with this story, I just kind of fudge... screw quality. Sigh.
But for the record - do not use human shampoo on your dog, as it may have an allergic reaction. Blackie's just special.