Free Immortal Max by Lutricia Clifton Page A

me know.” He points a finger at the door.
    â€œUm, I need to go to the office to place an ad.”
    â€œAcross the street and down a block.”
    Outside, I study the map to orient myself. Suddenly, my heart’s pounding like a snare drum. On the way to the office, I’ll get my first look at the mysterious land of CountryWood.
    Mysterious
describes CountryWood to a T. It’s nothing like I thought it would be. The biggest mystery is why it’s called CountryWood.
    There’s no country or woods anymore. The old oak trees have vanished into thin air. It’s like an alien Transformer with front-end loaders for arms descended to Earth and ripped them from the ground. Huge belching machines are digging foundations for new homes and trenches for utility lines. Diesel smoke and fumes float like storm clouds. Light poles are nonexistent, replaced with solar lights along driveways and motion-sensor detectors next to garage doors. Lawn sprinklers work continuously, spraying water on the grass. The only green thing to be seen.
    Mom was right. Our place is prettier than this.
    Some houses
are
big—two stories with three-car garages—but most are average size, average looking. But all of them, fancy and plain, big and small, are the same distance from the road.
Exactly
the same distance. Lego blocks on steroids, lined up in perfect rows.
    I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe.
    I look at my watch. Nine-thirty and I’m sweating. The sun beats down, a fiery orange globe in a cloudless blue sky. Turning asphalt streets to frying pans. Toasting leaves on the newly planted trees in the front yards. Electric golf carts glide along like enormous slugs, the drivers’ faces replaced with metallic sunshades or hidden under hats. I recognize kids from school, carrying beach towels or tennis rackets.
    By the time I reach the office, my clothes are waterlogged. My armpits are overflowing sewers. My lips are lizard scales. My memory, though, has sharpened.
    Aww, man. I forgot to bring water.
    I push through the office door and enter an air-conditionedroom. I pause a minute in the entry, cooling off, and spot an older woman sitting behind a counter, smiling at me.
    â€œSamuel Smith?” she says.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œAnise and Yee told me to expect you. I’m Mrs. Callahan. I do the newsletter. Did you bring your ad?”
    â€œOh, yes, ma’am. It’s fifteen words long.
Exactly
.” I pull a wrinkled piece of paper and a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and watch as she reads my ad.
    â€œWell, now, this is very good. . . .” She hesitates. “But I might suggest one change.”
    Change? The ad is perfect. I worked on it for hours.
    â€œHow about we substitute
waste
for
poop
so that the ad reads ‘Will walk dogs. Credentials. Includes picking up dog
waste
. Payment in cash required.’ ”
    â€œWaste? Sure, no problem. I’ve just heard that’s one of the requirements here. You know, picking up a dog’s
waste
. So I thought it was important to include it.”
    â€œOh, yes.
Very
important.” She slips my ten-dollar bill into a cash box. “I’ll make sure this gets in the newsletter. Everyone will have it by this afternoon. We put one in every door.”
    â€œThat’s swell. Um, I hear you might be interested in someone walking your dogs?”
    â€œYes, indeed. I can’t leave the office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday so my little dogs don’t get walked midday. Just morning and evening.”
    â€œI, uh, I brought my credentials in case you want to see them.” I hold up my scrapbook so she can see it.
    She hesitates. “Well, I’m working right now, so it’s not a good time. How about you come out tomorrow to meet my little ones? It’s important that they also approve of you. And who knows, maybe by then, others will have called and you can meet with them, too. Say,