Page 122 of Worst in Show

“That’s great.” I shove my hands in my pockets but then take them out again. “Right?”

“Yeah.” He scratches his temple and motions toward me. “Cora…”

I hold my breath. “Yeah?”

“I came back to tell you—”

“Got it,” Micki calls, almost running into me. She shoves a blue-and-white cape into my arms before she bends at the waist, hands on thighs, panting for air. “Hey, there,” she says peering up at Leo. “Nice dance routine. Can I call you Mr. Robot from now on?”

The moment is gone. I’m going to have a talk with Micki about her timing.

“Very funny.” Leo presses his lips together. “Honestly, I’m not sure what happened up there.” He nods toward the stage. “I think I blacked out when he refused to sit. I really hope he’ll fetch for me.”

“No, no. I’m taking over.” I drape the cape over Cap. “You got us this far, but he knows me better.”

“Of course.” Leo hands me the leash. “Not to get ahead of myself or anything, but thanks for saying us.”

“Five minutes,” the MC calls over the speakers.

I let out a sharp breath.

“We’ll talk after?” Leo asks, intent on me.

The belly butterflies I torched earlier this week rise from the ashes like tiny phoenixes. “Yes.”

He nods. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Break a leg.”

“This is it,” I tell Cap at the edge of the arena. I rub his flanks and adjust the cape. “You look very snazzy. Like a winner. Okay?”

He pants, tongue hanging out. If he understands, he’s not letting on.

“The ball machine will shoot one ball at a time,” the MC announces in a voice that brings to mind Super Bowl commentary. “Each dog will be timed from launch to retrieve, and an average of the five rounds will be calculated for each. Are we ready?” He looks from the other handler to me, lowering the microphone. “Who are you?”

I make myself as tall as I can. “Cap’s owner. I was in the original paperwork.”

For a moment, it looks like he might protest, but then he shrugs and raises his arm in the air. “Cue music.”

Jessie is a fantastic dog, and she runs like the wind after the first three balls. Cap isn’t bad, either, his awkward gallop surprisingly speedy today. The cape flies behind him, creating exactly the kind of eye-catching effect I intended.

“A dog with many names already, but I think we might need to give him another after this,” the MC says. “He’s like a tiny Captain America with his superhero cape. Marvel-ous. See what I did there?”

The crowd forgives the terrible dad joke and seems to agree. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but surely they cheer louder for Cap than for Jessie?

At the fourth ball, Cap is swept up in the general elation rising toward the ceiling and does an extra lap before returning to me. The prize money takes wings in my mind, fluttering away, but as I find Leo in the audience and see his grin, I’m reminded that giving up isn’t an option.

“What’s that?” the MC asks, pretending to hear something in a nonexistent earpiece. “It’s practically a tie again, you say? Well, we can’t have that. Let’s hear it from our fabulous audience—who are you rooting for today?”

“One left,” I tell Cap. “You’re such a good boy.”

Around us, the audience chants.

Jessie’s final ball shoots out of the canon, but this time, she doesn’t move.

“Come on, girl,” her owner cajoles. “Last one.”

Jessie pants, clearly exhausted, but with the promise of a treat, she takes off again and returns seconds later with the ball.

“Come on, Captain America!” the MC shouts. “This is it.”

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