Until Tuesday by Bret Witter, Luis Carlos Montalván Read Free Book Online Page A

his meals without enthusiasm. He was a young teenager, and he missed the city. He missed the action on the streets. He missed the hope, no matter how small, that his mother would take him back. Most of all, he missed his rottweiler, Bear, the only constant in his life. No matter what happened or where he lived, the dog had always been waiting.
    Brendan knew dog training was an option at Children’s Village. He heard the dogs were special. Golden retrievers that could turn on lights and open doors? He was intrigued, but he didn’t admit that to anyone. He was too withdrawn; he didn’t open himself up like that. Besides, it was probably a con, because everything in life turned out to be a con, just another way for adults to get what they wanted. But after the dogs performed for his class one day, he couldn’t resist. It was no con. The dogs really could turn on lights with their noses, open doors, and walk right beside their trainers, who were kids from Children’s Village just like him, except that with the dogs beside them, those kids weren’t quite like him anymore.
    I have to do that , he thought, despite himself. I gotta be a part of that .
    He didn’t thrive in the program. He liked the dogs, but he resented the rigidity of the training. He spent hours without talking, sullenly walking the dogs through their drills, but then, when he was alone with the other kids, he bullied and belittled them. He was a typical Children’s Village student: afraid, resentful, and mistrusting—a bully when he felt bad but deep down, in his heart, a good kid. He was like Tuesday, in a way. He wanted affection, he wanted a task, but he felt abandoned by the person he loved. He was sixteen, but he acted like he was eight, and Lu wanted to wrap her arms around him even when he acted out, because she knew he was sensitive and wounded and needed a hug.
    She gave him Tuesday instead, pulling him aside one day and telling him, “I have a special job for you, Brendan, okay?”
    “What is it?”
    “It’s Tuesday. He’s having trouble heeling. Can you help him?”
    Brendan knew this was true. Everybody loved Tuesday, but everyone knew he was lagging behind the other dogs, too.
    This is not to say Tuesday was a bad dog. His poor behavior was only a matter of degrees. The ECAD program sent the dogs out every few weekends to spend time as “normal dogs” at the homes of volunteers. One Sunday, Tuesday’s foster mother took him to church. Not to sit in the car, but to sit under the pew and listen, without complaint, to an entire sermon. At communion, he followed his foster mother to the kneeler. Instead of sitting behind her as she expected, Tuesday sat beside her, with his paws on the altar rail. Everyone else had their hands there, so why not? When the priest came with the communion wafers, Tuesday quietly watched him pass, but his eyes said, Hey, why didn’t I get a treat? The priest came back, placed his hands on Tuesday’s head and blessed his future work. Tuesday waited quietly for a few seconds, then turned and walked back to his seat, the whole congregation chuckling behind him.
    So he was not a poorly behaved dog—not by “normal dog” standards, anyway. In fact, he was probably the best-behaved dog you have ever met. He was just silly sometimes. He would lose his concentration and romp after the other dogs, or taunt his handlers by waving a toy in his mouth instead of handing it to them, or give them a goofy smile when they told him to sit on his box. If they asked him to fetch a sock, sometimes he’d grab two, then run around the room showing them to everyone. He was immature, as Lu put it. He’d stayed a fifteen-pound puppy, even as his body had grown into an eighty-pound dog.
    Brendan knew Tuesday’s history. He had seen Tuesday’s behavior. He knew this wasn’t another con by adults. Tuesday really needed special help. When Brendan turned and saw Tuesday watching him with those deep eyes and knotted eyebrows, I