Apricot Press

Cocoa

By Laura Theis

Of all the kids in the class, he is the only one who never even glances up when Ada is ushered into the room by the head teacher. Everyone else is looking up at her, two dozen faces full of curiosity about the mid-term New Arrival, only his is motionless, staring down at his hands. She is drawn to him like the kind of cat that always wants to jump onto the lap of the one party guest with allergies. At break time, she asks around about him.

Oh, Adam? He’s a loner, the other kids tell her. Doesn’t talk much. Keeps to himself.

Her whole first day is filled with observations of him. The grey circles under his eyes. The way he taps his foot under the table. The white animal hair on his soft green jumper. He catches her staring once and frowns.

On the second day, she trails him out of the school gate. He walks fast; she’s out of breath trying to keep pace.

Adam?

Why are you following me, he snaps without looking at her.

What kind of a dog do you have?

He turns around, more surprised than annoyed now. It’s the first time his dark eyes meet hers up close. How do you know I have a dog?

She picks off one of the short white hairs from his jumper and shows him. Could be a cat, he says.

She reaches into his bulging jacket pocket and pulls out a mangy tennis ball. Her boldness is rewarded.

He smiles. His smile is like a drawbridge that can be pulled up again any moment. Do you like dogs?

She nods violently, and he starts telling her about Cocoa. Cocoa is a proper mongrel. Adam’s face changes so much when he talks about him. It opens. His eyes blaze with love. His voice is a little hoarser and more quiet than other boys’, but the words tumble out gladly as he tells her about all the clever things and tricks Cocoa knows.

Well, I want to meet him, she says. I’m not taking no for an answer.

You can’t.

His face is a fortress again now.

Adam, she says. I get that you’re someone who is by himself all the time. But everyone needs a friend, at least one. You need a friend. A human friend I mean, that isn’t a dog. I want to be that friend. My mind is made up.

Why me, new girl? I don’t even remember your name. Plenty of others that would be keen, I’m sure.

She’s not taking the bait. She stomps her foot impatiently. I don’t want anyone else.

She says it and they both stare at each other. He looks away first.

Right, he says. Actually, maybe I could use a friend who is into dogs. Maybe you could help me with something.

Now we’re talking. I’m your guy. Girl. Whatever.

Listen. You want to be my friend?

Yes.

Well then, there are going to have to be some rules. No one can know. You can never come to my house. You can never call me there. No one can know we are connected at all. There is an oak tree in the forest where I walk Cocoa.

He tells her about the tree, and about the little hollow where you can hide things. We can leave each other notes there, he says, if we need to make contact.

Okay, Ada nods. I accept. And, she adds as an afterthought, my name is Ada.

Good, he says. And then, ominously, It’s for your own protection. I don’t want you to get hurt.

Shit, she thinks, and swallows. There is something bad there. Something not right at all. Thank you, she says out loud.

At school, she studiously avoids him and starts sitting with some friendly boring girls at lunch. Some days she and Adam nod at each other from afar. Some days they don’t. But every other day, they leave each other messages in the hollow tree. Ada makes Adam little books of stories that she has thought up and illustrated herself. They are pirate stories and spy stories and mysteries. They are supposed to be funny. The twist is, the protagonists are all dogs. Ada loves dogs but she also loves piecing clues together, figuring stuff out. She also leaves him an elaborate treasure map that leads from the tree to her house.

One day, as she puts her message in the tree, her neck tingles as if there is someone looking at her. She waits, and after a while Adam steps out from behind a shrub. He is holding a leash, and on the end of the leash the sweetest dog Ada has ever seen.

Cocoa is shy at first, scared of being touched by her. He looks like a small cloud of white fluff and his eyes are large and brown and soulful.

It takes two more meetings until he lets her throw the ball for him and even licks her hand once. His ears turn themselves inside out while he runs and he has to shake them back in place.

He lets her scratch him just behind the left one.

You’re great with him. He likes you, Adam says, approvingly. That’s good, that’s very good. You know, he used to love everyone, before he… Adam trails off. Now he’s scared of everything. But mostly men. Men with beards.

What happened?

He doesn’t reply, pretends he hasn’t heard the question.

She doesn’t press him. She is careful about asking too much. But she files the conversation away with the other titbits and puzzle pieces she has found so far. Don’t come to my house. For your own protection.

It only takes another week for Adam to turn up on her doorstep, Cocoa in tow. She is surprised and pleased. Clearly her map was a success.

Ada, he says. She loves it when he says her name, though neither of them ever acknowledges the way hers slots into his like a hand into a glove.

You know how friends do each other favours and stuff.

Yes?

Well, I was going to ask you. About Cocoa. If maybe you could keep him at your house for a while.

For his protection?

Yes, Adam says. In the interest of his safety.

What are you going to say at home if you come back without him?

I’ll tell them he’s dead. So they don’t go looking.

Ada’s mum is better than most parents at not asking the wrong questions. Maybe that’s where Ada gets it from. But every day when she comes home from work, she holds space for Ada to tell her things, if she chooses. Tonight Ada chooses to tell her a little about Adam. Her suspicions. She has to, at any rate, explain the dog.

Mum, she says, I made friends with this boy whose face is a bit like a fortress and who loves the stories I write and who needs somewhere to keep his dog safe. It’s not like he’s told me anything. But can we keep him here?

Ada’s mum looks at her as if she is about to say something but she only nods. Of course. Ada can practically see the alarm bells ringing in her mother’s mind.

Cocoa is restless on his first evening and looks for Adam in Ada’s house. He has an accident on the living room carpet. But eventually he falls asleep on Ada’s foot. Ada can see the scars on him while the dog twitches in his sleep. She says a little prayer to the universe, please, she says, protect him, let him be safe.

The next afternoon, Adam comes to Ada’s house with a bag of black plant-based dye. He refuses to talk about home, so Ada doesn’t ask again.

They use the dye to give Cocoa a black tail and black ears. And spots over his chest. They also give him a crazy asymmetrical haircut, one eyebrow longer than the other. And a new collar.

Think of a new name, Adam prompts her. How about Einstein, on account of him being so clever. Do you know why I named him Cocoa even though his fur isn’t cocoa coloured?

Yes, Ada says, because hot cocoa is your favourite.

She remembers everything Adam told her about himself.

Maybe I’ll call him Truffle, she decides, as chocolate truffles are my favourite.

Thank you. Adam says. You are a good friend.

I am, says Ada. And if you feel like telling me what you are going to do now that he’s safe, now would be a good time maybe.

Adam takes a deep breath. He clenches and unclenches his hands as if he was kneading invisible dough.

I’m going to tell my mum something. About my stepdad. He always said he would kill Cocoa if I told her. Now that Cocoa’s officially dead, I will tell her. And if she doesn’t believe me, I’m off. I’m not sticking around. I’m not putting up with it anymore.

I see. Ada’s voice is very small and quiet.

Adam looks at Ada, then out the window for a bit, then back at Ada again, daring her to say anything, anything at all, but she knows better.

Adam silently drinks up the hot cocoa with marshmallows Ada made for him. After Adam has left, Cocoa whines for a long time. The black plant paint is rubbing off onto Ada’s white bed linens, leaving smudge stains.

Later that week Adam and Ada are sitting on Ada’s grey-stained bed, each petting one side of Cocoa, who is almost white again and snoozing between them like a baby angel. Every so often, their fingers touch as they trace the washed- out spots on his fur. They can hear their mothers’ voices from downstairs. Adam’s mum and Ada’s mum are both drinking tea in the kitchen. Ada’s mum is writing out a script for Adam’s mum to say in case Adam’s stepdad calls. She’s talking urgently, about lawyers and options. Sometimes they hear sounds that could either be laughter or sobs from Adam’s mum.

Ada gets restless. She tries telling Adam about her latest story. She shows him the drawings. The hero is a white dog with black ears and spots and a host of amazing super powers. He can fly, and eviscerate his enemies with his supersonic bark.

Adam just sits there, looking more lost than usual.

Under the pretence of petting the dog again, Ada slides her fingers into his hand. She lifts it up and puts her face into it. It smells of dog fur and lemon hand soap. She turns it around and kisses each of his knuckles in turn, the way her mum would kiss a bruise away when she was little. Adam does not resist or pull his hand back. He just looks at her with his dark cloud eyes.

You know, he says after a while. She believed me. She believed me when I said that Cocoa wasn’t really dead. That I’d found a way for him to be safe, because that’s what it means to take care of someone, you do whatever it takes to keep them protected. And then she knew. She knew when I said it, that she hadn’t.

Adam does not cry while he tells her this, so Ada does it for him, quietly, and lets her tears fall onto Cocoa’s sleeping head, his terrible lopsided haircut.

Photo credit: dole777