Your eyes widen as your hand flies up to cover your mouth. You turn your back to the door and run to the hall mirror, leaving the door wide open and the stranger staring behind you in befuddlement. How on earth did you manage to get dressed and cleaned up without noticing some crazy crust on your face? You lick your thumb and wipe at the little white smudge. It comes off easily. It was probably just drool.
You feel like an idiot, but you shrug it off. Your breakfast is getting cold. You head back to the kitchen.
"Um. Excuse me? Miss?"
Oh, right. The door.
You trot back to the front door. "Sorry. Thanks. Geez. I almost went to school like that. I definitely owe you one," you say. "So. Did you need something?"
He's clearly trying not to laugh at you. You resent it a little (who does he think he is?) but his smile is infectious. Yes. That's what it is, you think. Infectious. I'm infected. You chuckle out loud. As if you didn't seem crazy enough already.
His face flashes confusion, but he delivers his answer. "I just wanted to see if he was yours."
He motions toward the little brown dog with curly fur that's waiting at the end of the red leash he's holding. The dog is gazing off to the side, down the street, looking bored. Do dogs get bored? You imagine a geography class full of bored dogs. Damn, I forgot I had geography this year. Ugh.
"No," you say simply, bringing yourself back to the situation at hand. "I haven't seen him before. I don't think he lives on our block. Unless he just moved in." You grin.
The boy with the glasses looks down at the dog and nods, disappointed. Instead of walking away, he looks back up at you, apparently unsure what to do next.