Page 24 of Shy Girl

MIA BALLARD80

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The thought circles endlessly, intersecting with images of overdue bills, eviction notices, and Nathan’s steady, confident gaze.

I pull into my driveway, aligning my car perfectly with the curb. I sit for a moment, staring at the roll of cash before finally picking it up. My fingers run over the smooth edges of the bills, the weight of them both reassuring and overwhelming.

TEN

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The crisp envelope,stuffed with rent money—actual, physical cash—felt heavier than it should have in my hand as I drove to my landlord’s house. The bills were perfectly aligned, crisp and fresh, sealed inside with a neatness that felt like absolution. I’d imagined this moment for days, the small victory of catching up on rent, of watching his face when I handed it over.

And he didn’t disappoint. The look on his face when he opened the door was priceless—shock, maybe a little confusion, like he couldn’t believe I had paid it and he’d have to kick me out. I smiled, wide and confident, handing him the envelope. “I’ll never be late again,” I said, the words smooth, like a mantra I was trying to believe myself.

He grunted something in response, something that might’ve been “good” or “okay,” but it didn’t matter. I’d done it. I turned and walked back to my car with a spring in my step, the cool air brushing against my cheeks, sharp and electric. The relief was almost overwhelming, a physical thing that loosened the tightness in my chest. But there was something else, too—a faint unease that lingered in the back of my mind.

SHY GIRL82

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The drive home was quiet, the city slipping by in blurred fragments of light and shadow. My mind wandered, circling back to Nathan, to the cage, to the black collar that still felt like a phantom weight against my neck. The memory was sharp and intrusive, but it didn’t fill me with dread. If anything, it felt oddly comforting. Predictable. A challenge with clear rules, a role I could step into if I just practiced enough.

MIA BALLARD83

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Once home,I sit at my desk and open up my laptop. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I typedog behavior tutorialinto the search bar. The results flood the screen: videos on training dogs, analyzing their movements, understanding their instincts. I begin clicking through them, one by one, absorbing the information like a sponge.

I learn quickly that different breeds behave very differently. Border collies are energetic, almost frantic in their movements. Labradors are playful, friendly, and eager to please. Dobermans are sleek and purposeful. After some deliberation, I narrow my focus to one breed: golden retrievers. They’re gentle, easygoing, loyal—qualities I think I can emulate.

I clear a space in the center of my living room, pushing the coffee table against the wall so I have room to move. I set my phone on the floor, propped up on a book, and start recording myself.

First, I get on all fours, my hands flat against the carpet, my knees pressing into it. The position feels unnatural at first, my body stiff and awkward. I watch the video tutorial again, mimicking the way the golden retriever lowers its head and wags its tail. I don’t have a tail, of course, but I sway my hips gently from side to side, trying to replicate the motion. “Good dog,” I whisper to myself, my voice soft and coaxing. Next, I practice walking on all fours. The tutorial emphasizes smooth, fluid movements, so I focus on coordinating my hands and knees, ensuring each step is balanced. I crawl across the room, turn, and crawl back again, repeating the sequence until it feels less awkward.

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SHY GIRL84

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Then comes the barking. I watch the dog in the video tilt its head and let out a sharp, playful bark. I pause the video and mimic the sound, my voice hesitant at first.

“Woof,” I say softly. It doesn’t sound right. Too human.

I try again, this time louder, more forceful. “Woof!”

It’s closer, but still off. I rewind the video and listen again, studying the pitch and cadence of the dog’s bark. I practice over and over, adjusting the tone and volume until I’m satisfied.

Finally, I add the tail wag to the bark, performing both simultaneously. I crawl to the center of the room, sit back on my heels, and let out a soft “woof” while swaying my hips. I feel silly, but there’s something calming about the repetition, the focus required to perfect each motion.

I review the video I’ve recorded, taking notes on my posture and movements.Back too stiff. Hands too far apart. Bark needs more energy.I adjust accordingly, repeating the sequence until I see improvement.

When I finally stop, my knees ache, and my palms are red from pressing against the floor, but I feel accomplished. I sit back on the rug; my legs crossed and replay the video one more time. I have been doing this all day.

“I can do this,” I whisper, a small smile forming on my lips. “I just need to practice more.”

The thought feels reassuring, almost comforting. With enough repetition, enough preparation, I can perfect the role. I can be the best dog Nathan has ever seen.

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