Alpha Dog Read Online Free Page B

only telling you these things because I want you to succeed here. If you were more reliable I wouldn’t have to—”
    Just then, the door opened and an older woman stood before us, smiling. She was petite with a dyed black, Betty Boop–style hairdo and huge, clear-framed eyeglasses. Her long denim skirt and crisp white blouse looked freshly pressed, but both were covered with multicolored hairs. Probably from the smug-looking calico cat she held to her chest.
    “Are these our new summer guests, Mrs. B?” she asked in a singsongy voice.
    Mom and I exchanged brief, startled looks. Who the heck was she talking to?
    “Yes, I do believe they are,” she went on. “Just look at all the suitcases.”
    That’s when it hit me. She was talking to the cat.
    “Hi, I’m Agnes Krantz,” she crooned, thrusting her hand toward my mother.
    “Laura McAllister,” Mom said, grasping her palm and shaking it. When they let go, Mom studied her hand. It was covered in cat fur.
    “Oh, sorry about that. This awful heat’s been making Mrs. B shed like crazy, hasn’t it Missy-tootle?” She lifted her arms and nuzzled her face against the cat’s head.
    “Quite all right,” Mom said with a nervous laugh. “May I introduce my daughter, Katie?”
    “Hi,” I greeted her with a wave, hoping to avoid the furry handshake.
    It worked. Mrs. Krantz nodded and grinned at me. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you. Would you like to see your place?”
    “Sure.”
    Mrs. Krantz took a wad of keys out of her skirt pocket and walked next door to number 301. After unlocking the doorknob and two dead bolts, she opened the front door and gestured us inside.
    As I stepped across the threshold, I could feel layer upon layer of stress slide off me. It was like the relief you feel when you finally fill your lungs with air after holding your breath a long time. I felt . . . home.
    The place was small, much smaller than I’d imagined. But it didn’t matter. I thought it was perfect in spite of the dingy carpeting and odd chicken-soup smell. I could easily imagine myself eating Cocoa Puffs at the green laminated bar that separated the living room from the tiny galley-style kitchen. Or drinking a soda while flopped across the old but comfy-looking flowered sofa.
    Mrs. Krantz set down the cat and puttered about, opening blinds and fluffing the cushions on the couch and two flanking armchairs. Rays of light streaming through the windows illuminated swirls of dust in the air.
    “Don’t worry. Everything is clean,” Mrs. Krantz remarked, watching my mother run her finger along a built-in bookshelf. “It just needs to be lived in. Isn’t that right, Mrs. B?”
    I turned to look at the cat, half expecting her to answer. Mrs. B sauntered over to me, gave my shoes an indifferent sniff, and then jumped into the frayed yellow club chair.
    “It’s charming,” Mom said, glancing around and giving an approving nod.
    “Thank you.” Mrs. Krantz beamed. “Let me show you my favorite part.”
    She pushed aside some vertical blinds to reveal a glass atrium door. Then she opened it up and led us onto a wide concrete balcony overlooking west campus.
    “Wow,” I breathed, leaning against the iron railing. There, just a few miles east, stood the UT Tower. This time its western clock face was smiling at me. “What a view! Isn’t it great, Mom?”
    Mom walked up beside me and stared out at the sun-drenched panorama. For the first time that day, her expression softened and she actually smiled. “Yes, it’s nice,” she said. She turned and looked at me. “Remember not to squint.”
    “Right.” I was way too happy to get annoyed. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I gazed out at the bustling streets, trying to picture myself scurrying along the sidewalk with my backpack slung over my shoulder.
    “Yes, Mrs. B and I just love it out here,” Mrs. Krantz said behind us. “That’s our balcony right next door.” I glanced to the right toward the other half of the