Officer Forsyth loads Diesel onto the back seat and I squeeze in beside him. Diesel lifts his head and rests it on my thigh. Morgan squishes into the back seat with us. I can feel Diesel’s breath hot on my leg, and feel grateful for what that means. “Diesel,” I whisper and gently pat his head.

The police officer talks into his radio, telling them about his animal-hospital run. I’m on the edge of the seat thinking he will be ordered not to help us. But instead he turns on the siren and we pull away.

I bend down, close to Diesel’s ears. “I can’t do this without you,” I whisper.

He turns his head and licks my face. I kiss his whiskers back.

Five blocks north, ten blocks west — after the longest ten-minute ride of my life, the squad car finally pulls up to the front of an emergency animal hospital. Officer Forsyth springs out, lifts Diesel off me, and carries him across the lot. In the lead, Morgan rushes to open the door to the building. I keep my eyes on Diesel’s, hoping I will hold on to his life that way.

Brightly lit and painted yellow, the waiting room smells like cough medicine and a million scared cats. When the receptionist sees us, she stands up and calls out to someone in the back. “This way,” she says to us as she flings open a door to a small, kitchen-like room with a stainless-steel examining table in the middle. Officer Forsyth lays Diesel down on the metal table, which ordinarily would freak him out, but he still has Morgan’s towel between him and that cold shininess.

I’m here for you, Diesel.

“You girls will contact your parents, right?” the officer asks as he straightens. “I need to head out.”

Morgan nods.

“Good luck.” Officer Forsyth touches his hat with his hand.

It only registers then that he means goodbye.

Don’t call Alpha Female!

“Why not, Diesel? Why not?” I ask out loud.

I will get the sleeping needle.

How do you know that? What really happened last time?

He won’t answer. It doesn’t matter. Diesel’s right. My parents can’t afford any kind of vet bills. Mom will have him put down.

A tall woman with a brown ponytail and a white lab coat rushes in. Dr. Fielding, her name tag reads. “You girls need to take a seat out in the reception area. I’ll come out to talk to you as soon as I know more.”

We do as she asks. I begin shaking.

“You probably want to put these on,” Morgan says, tossing me my clothes from her bag.

I slip on my shorts, wishing I had a sweater. My teeth are still chattering.

“Wanna borrow this?” She hands me a sweatshirt from her bag.

“Thanks.” I put it on.

“You want to call your mom?” Morgan holds out her cellphone.

“I can’t. If Diesel needs any kind of treatment, she’ll tell the doctor to put him down.”