I stood in front of the brick row house and grumbled. I was alone on the sidewalk. There was no one to hear my complaining, but I did it anyway. I thought maybe grumbling would make me feel better. It didn't. I pushed my long black hair out of my eyes. I stared up at the building.

This was Grandma Lollie's place. Lollie wasn't actually my grandmother. I don't think she was anyone's grandmother, really. But everyone called her that.

Lollie lived in a quiet part of Jersey City. It was a ten minute bus ride from my house up the hill and not too long a walk from Morse High, my new school. I had just started there as a freshman in September.

The cold November wind blew hard and pushed me sideways. I regretted the holes I'd cut into my new black jeans. My mom had been pretty mad at me for cutting into the new fabric. I was beginning to agree with her.

Another gust of wind hit me. My choices were to either freeze on the sidewalk, or venture inside Grandma Lollie's building. I hadn't been inside her apartment since I was a kid.

I liked Grandma Lollie. She was always walking around the city with her red shopping cart, her little white dog, and her big smile. But I was dreading seeing her. She was sick, and I wasn't sure what to expect.

I slowly made my way up the cement steps, thinking of the conversation I'd had with my mom during dinner the night before.

We'd just finished our salad when she said, "I got a call today. Grandma Lollie's had a stroke."

She'd spooned some mac and cheese into my bowl. My mom always made mac and cheese from a box and still always managed to mess it up. It kind of glopped off the spoon into the bowl. Gross.

"That's sad," I'd replied. Truthfully, I was thinking more about the mac and cheese than Grandma Lollie. I'd tasted it. It was clumpy and gluey. Not a good combination.

"It is. She's been a pillar of the community for decades."

My mom always spoke like that. She worked for an environmental group, so she was used to talking to politicians. So she called Grandma Lollie a "pillar of the community" instead of just saying that everybody knew her.

I waited about ten seconds. I was about to leave when an older man in blue surgical scrubs came to the door.

"You're here for the dog?" he said gruffly.

"Y-yes," I stammered.

"Good, good. Come inside," he said, waving me in. He led me down the hall to Grandma Lollie's door.

He called out, "Grandma, the girl is here for Augustus!" It was funny to see this tough man call someone "grandma." There was no reply as I scooted through the door.

The apartment was neat and prim. There were lace doilies on the backs of all the chairs. The mantle had fancy looking figurines. Music played softly on an old record player. A hospital bed was near the front window. Grandma Lollie was in it, sitting up. Augustus, a scruffy white terrier, was curled up at her feet.

The nurse nudged me. "What's your name?"

"Sofia."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Mikhail." I realized that his accent was Russian. He turned back to Grandma Lollie. "Grandma, Sofia is here to walk Augustus. What does she need to know?"

I waited for her to speak. But instead she picked up a bunch of laminated sheets of paper with pictures on them. She began pointing at different pictures. Mikhail watched and nodded. I couldn't understand why she wasn't speaking.

When Lollie finished pointing at the pictures, Mikhail turned to me. "She wants you to walk Augustus for 45 minutes. Walk quickly so he can get some energy out. I'll get you his leash."

I must have looked confused. "She lost her speech when she had the stroke," Mikhail explained. "She's still feeling weak on her right side, but we'll get her good as new in no time." He smiled at Grandma Lollie.

I approached the bed. Grandma Lollie looked just like I remembered. Same ocean blue eyes. Same shoulder length blonde hair. Except now there was a little strip of white at the top of her head. I realized that this must be her real hair. I had somehow always thought her hair was still blond, even though she was almost 90.

I reached for the scraggly white dog. He growled. I jumped back.

Grandma Lollie smiled. She patted him and then nudged him toward me. He hopped down off the bed using a series of boxes laid out like stairs. He grumbled the whole time. Sort of like how I had been grumbling outside a few minutes ago.

Mikhail put Augustus's leash on and handed him to me. "All yours, kid." When he said "kid," it sounded like "keed."

I looked down at the little dog. "Let's go for a walk," I said. I tried to sound enthusiastic. His ears perked up for a second. But then he turned back to the door and scratched. He didn't want to walk with me any more than I wanted to walk with him. Somehow, I didn't think my mom would accept this excuse.

I bent down and tried to pick him up. As soon as my hands were around his belly, Augustus let out a low growl. I let him go. "Okay, okay, you crazy dog," I said.

Just then I heard a deep laugh and I jumped. I hadn't realized that the dumb dog was making me so nervous.

"Sorry to scare you," a voice said. I turned and saw someone hobbling down the stairs. The boy looked a little older than me.

"Slim Jims," the mysterious boy said, flashing his green eyes at me. It made my stomach flutter. "Augustus loves Slim Jims," he said. "That's the only way to get him to do anything." He scratched behind the dog's ears. "I'm Omar, by the way. I live upstairs."

"I'm Sofia. I'm supposed to be walking Augustus for Grandma Lollie." I was embarrassed to say such a babyish name in front of this guy.

"I figured. Yeah, keep some snacks in your pocket and he'll follow you." He held out a baggie of cut up Slim Jims. I put them in my pocket.

"Thanks," I said. "But he doesn't seem to like me."

Omar laughed again. "He doesn't like anyone much. Took two years before he stopped growling at me. Two years and tons of treats. Now we're buddies."

"Then why don't you walk him?" I asked.

He pointed to the cast on his leg. "Leg's busted. From football. I might need surgery."

"Oh, sorry," I said.

"Hey, don't you go to Morse?" he asked.

I nodded.