The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

I laugh to myself and continue on my way with the tiny dachshund/Chihuahua mix jumping around excitedly at my feet—that is, until she realizes we’re going to the washroom. She tries to back up but backs right into my legs. I scoop her up into my arms and pat her head to try to assure her that she’ll be perfectly fine, but she freaks out even more from having a complete stranger holding her captive. She starts yelping right in my ear, and the high-pitched racket startles my soul right out of my body. My arms flail of their own volition, and the poor dog goes flying across the room. Why did it have to be a dog? Why couldn’t it have been a cat? At least a cat would land on its feet. No harm, no foul.

“Nooooo!” Amelia screams from the corner where she watches the dog soar.

Jeremy watches the horrific scene go down and leaps into action. He runs and dives to try to catch the poor creature, but his fingers just barely graze her back as they both crash to the floor with a thud. Jeremy lands on his side with a deep groan, and the dog lands on her back. She starts screeching and yelping even louder, and now I’m worried that she’s literally dying from an internal injury. Oh my gosh, I’m a dog murderer. Can you go to prison for this? It’s fine. I would deserve it. I ought to march myself down to the police station right now and hand myself over. But I look awful in orange. Red and pink look much better with my complexion. I don’t think hardened criminals get a say in the color of their jumpsuit, though.

A stampede of footsteps is rushing down the hall. Good. There will be even more witnesses to my ineptitude. A ton of them, if my ears can be trusted. I face away from the door but turn back around when I notice Jeremy’s anxious face. I’m the teacher and the one who caused this mess, so I have to fix it.

Elizabeth runs into the room in full-on panic mode until she sees which dog is causing the commotion. She rolls her eyes and walks over to pick up the wounded creature.

“I should have known it would be you, Princess,” she says once the dog is situated safely in her arms. The dog immediately stops her yapping and licks Elizabeth's chin, perfectly content now that she’s been rescued from her supposed tormentor. My mouth drops open at the complete one-eighty the dog just pulled. What an actress. I really thought she was knocking on death’s door.

“Don’t worry about washing this little drama queen. I’ll take care of her later,” Elizabeth says and carries her out of the room while making baby-talk to the dog. Drama queen is right.

I look toward the door to see Colby and a whole crowd of students standing behind him trying to peek over his broad shoulders. The jerk has a smirk on his face.

“All right, show’s over,” I say as I help Jeremy up from the floor. All the students run back to their tasks, but Colby just stands there scrutinizing me like I’m under one of his microscopes.

“I knew you were evil, but I never took you as someone who would abuse innocent animals,” he says, crossing those massive, muscular arms across his equally muscular chest. I wonder what those arms feel like. They’re probably as hard as a rock. My hand twitches at my side, tempted to just give them a quick squeeze—purely for scientific research.

“Miss Sullivan, what, may I ask, are you staring at?” Colby croons. I shake my head clear of the inappropriate thoughts and look up at his face. He smiles at me like he knows every thought that just went through my head. And I’m not even a little upset about it, because that smile is perfect, and I so rarely get to see it.

My stomach suddenly feels queasy, thinking of how much I like his smile. I brush past him out of the room to go fetch another dog to wash, and he trails behind me. Is he watching every move I make? I stop to turn and look back at him, and he’s right there, five steps behind me, with his hands in his pockets. And yes, he’s watching me. Goodness, that makes me more nervous than it should.

I’m covered in soap residue, water, and dog fur. My hair is in a frizzy bun on top of my head, and I’m wearing the grungiest clothes I own because I knew I would be doing gross tasks today. He must think I’m a vagabond. But why does that bother me so much? Why on Earth should I care what he thinks of me? Colby is rude, cold, and grumpy. He’s my worst (and only) enemy. We can’t stand the sight of each other. I already know he thinks badly of me, so why do I want him to like how I look?

I ponder this the entire way down the hall and past the little cells holding all the dogs. I chalk it up to my desire to be better than him at literally everything. When we had classes together, I studied extra hard for those classes to make sure my grade was always higher than his. I used to hate watching him play in high school football games, because he was so good, and I’ve never had an athletic bone in my body. I secretly loved it when he got tackled. It would only make sense that acknowledging his superior appearance would grate on my nerves.

I’m short and plump. I always have been, and I’ve only gotten plumper since high school. I hate knowing that I find him to be the epitome of male attractiveness, and he’s probably never given me a second look unless it was to criticize me. It’s fine. I don’t need him to find me attractive.

He exits through the door I passed a moment ago, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Time to get back to work.

It has been a long morning, but it has also been fun and rewarding. I loved getting to know some of the students better, and the rest of the dogs we washed were pretty easygoing. There were no more flying-dog incidents!

We’ve managed to finish before our allotted time is up, so we get to spend the rest of our time playing with some of the animals. I’m determined to go find that precious puppy I was eyeing this morning and give him all the ear scratches. He’s the cutest little floof-ball I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand how he ended up at a shelter. If I could, I would bring him home with me today.

I head outside to see if he’s still in the cage he was in earlier, and the sight I am greeted with is something my heart isn’t prepared for. Something I would never have expected to see in a million years. Colby is out in the dogs’ play yard—which is now poop-free—playing catch with a whole herd of dogs. Some are big, some are tiny, and they’re all wagging their tails, as happy as can be. They’re bouncing around his feet, jumping up and resting their paws on his legs, and nuzzling his hands. They’re bringing tennis balls back to him faster than he can throw them, and Colby looks like he’s loving every second of it. He’s…laughing. I wasn’t aware that was something he knew how to do. I legitimately don’t think I can remember one instance where he has laughed in my presence. It’s a glorious sound.

One of the dogs—a gigantic, mutant beast—jumps up on him. He’s so big his paws are on Colby’s chest and he’s licking his face. Colby sneezes right in the dog’s face and tries to back away from him, but the big guy follows him. He slips on a tennis ball and goes down on his backside with a grunt, and the dog continues his love attack.

Colby rubs the dog's sides as he lies on his back in the middle of the yard and just accepts the dog's slobbery “kisses” in between sneezes. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and I hate him a little more for that. I just want to continue on believing that he’s the worst sort of man there is. I don’t want to have to acknowledge that maybe I’ve misjudged him. I don’t want to find out that he’s at least somewhat likable, only for him to continue on despising me. If he’s going to hate me, I want to hate him even more. But gosh, he’s starting to make that task really hard.

“What are you smiling at?” Amelia asks next to me. I had been so engrossed in watching Colby that I hadn’t heard her walk up. I turn to look at her, and she follows the direction of my previous gaze. “Oh, Mr. Stuart. He’s adorable, isn’t he?”

“What? Isn’t he terribly mean?” I ask in surprise. Until this very moment, I never would have used the word ‘adorable’ to describe Colby, but she sounds like she uses it in reference to him all the time.

“He’s a little gruff sometimes, but he’s a great teacher. When I had him a few years ago, he used to let me come in before school all the time for extra help. I’m terrible at science, and he was always very patient with me,” she says. She shrugs her shoulders and dismisses the thought. She sees a few friends coming outside and runs over to join them. I turn my attention back to the man I thought I had all figured out, but it seems I was very wrong about a few things.