The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

1 - The Great Escape

Of all the ways I imagined my first plane ride, baring my soul to the stranger sitting next to me never once entered my mind. And just because the stranger is a brown and white service poodle doesn't mean I'm off my rocker. Dogs happen to be good listeners, and they never let you down the way people do. Believe me, I know. I've had some major disappointments this past year, which is the only reason my parents agreed to this trip.

"Has anyone ever told you that you'd make an excellent therapist?" I ask my confidant as the plane dips like a roller coaster, taking my stomach along with it. "I've been boring you with my problems the entire time and you've never once judged me or complained."

The poodle's soulful gaze drops to the complimentary pretzels in my lap.

"Oh, alright. But only one more. I think they're giving you gas." I crinkle my nose and steal a peek at his owner before reaching into the bag.

His travel companion lounges in the aisle seat next to him, earbuds firmly in place. Her nose is buried in a dog-eared copy of AARP, but her head bobs to whatever she's listening to on the MP3 player strapped to her fleshy bicep. She doesn't look up as the poodle accepts my offering, his tongue like warm velvet against my fingers.

I seal the bag and stuff it into the backpack sandwiched between my red Converse. "I've been waiting for this vacation ever since my best friend invited me. And you might not understand this, being a dog and all, but I'm about to em-bark on The Summer of Gwen—no pun intended."

The poodle's poofy head cocks absurdly to the side.

"I'm making some changes this summer and she's the only person I trust to help. Plus, I haven't seen her in two years. That's, like, fourteen years in dog time."

His brown eyes shift again to my backpack.

"No more! You're going to get us in trouble." I give the poodle a crooked smile because who can stay mad at that face? "Anyway, there are things I need to accomplish while I'm away. But my most important mission—in case you're curious—is escaping the nightmare I call my life. Even if it is only for the summer." I flinch at what I'm about to admit. It's like a literal kick to the gut. "Since Dad bailed on us, I think he forgot we exist."

A faint retch erupts from the seat next to the aisle. "Good God, Max. What did you get into?" The woman's nostrils flare like a horse. "You smell like rotten cabbage!"

I press my lips together and twist toward the oblong window, feigning interest in the multicolored properties passing by underneath.

But all I can think about is the shit storm I left in Ohio, a nugget of information I haven't mentioned to my best friend.

Despite the distance, Hartley and I still video chat several times a week (except when she was grounded for a month earlier this spring) and have been obsessing over the details of this summer for almost a year—well before my father announced he was leaving. I understood what he meant but didn't realize he was serious until he moved across town and didn't invite us to come with him.

Mom says he's in the middle of an epic midlife crisis, but I say he turned into a complete and total dick. He didn't even bother to show up at the airport to say goodbye. Maybe I'm being selfish, but that was an asshole-ish thing to do. Because seriously. Who would abandon their kid before they traveled across the country?

Overhead, the intercom beeps. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, where the current weather is 94 degrees and sunny."

Twenty minutes later, my knee bounces like a rubber ball as the plane rolls to a stop. Summer vacation started two weeks ago and I'm already falling behind on my plans. Hartley begged me to fly out the day after school ended but there was no way I could miss Henry's fifth-grade graduation (the list of things I wouldn't do for my brother is basically nonexistent). And since he spends his summers at Camp Tontogany, I figured it was only fair that I take off, too.