s at in the Bolton Prep library, researching on my lunch hour. After a dozen Googles, I knew my adversary. Nasty. Heartless. A serial killer that fought dirty. But my investigation confirmed that the enemy could be beaten.

Parvo. The puppy plague.

Unvaccinated dogs are virtually defenseless against it. A remorseless assassin, parvovirus often kills within days of invading its host.!!!Not on my watch.

I vowed to deprive the microscopic murderer of yet another victim.

Monday morning. A new school day had me back in uniform. Dull plaid tie and matching pleated skirt. White button-down shirt. Black knee socks.

Blech.

I shouldn’t complain. Without the dress code the Bolton Prep hallways would host a yearlong fashion show, one in which I could never compete. Unlike some girls, I play the outfit straight and don’t slut it up at every opportunity.

The information I’d downloaded wasn’t pleasant. My memory had been correct: no cure exists for canine parvovirus. But the survival stats provided a glimmer of hope. I clung to it like an anaconda.

A voice sounded from directly behind my chair. “Hey, Tory, shopping for prom dresses?”

I spun, defenses slamming into place. All year I’d been the target of ridicule. I knew the drill.

But it was only Hi, strolling to the neighboring computer station, his Bolton Prep jacket inside out to expose the blue silk lining. Hi claimed that if he wore the required attire, he met the dress code. Period. The administration disagreed, but after a year of defiance, Hi had prevailed. Teachers seldom tried to make him conform anymore.

I wondered why Hi kept poking the powers that be in the eye. Civil disobedience was out of character for him. Factoring in Ruth Stolowitski, his rebellion was downright astonishing.

When asked, Hi simply claimed to be the “Fresh Prince of Bolton Prep.” To each his own.

Gripping a half-eaten meatball sub in one hand, Hi flipped through my printouts with the other.

“Good idea, finding a proper gown.” Typical Hi sarcasm. “The Prom Queen has to look sharp. Vera Wang, perhaps? Or maybe something in a Lauren Conrad?”

“Thanks,” I responded dryly. “You’ll still be my date, right? Or will you have a playoff game that night? I’ll understand; we need our star quarterback on the field.”

“I’ll let you know,” Hi replied breezily. “I may be dining with Kristen Stewart. Or Bill Compton. Some vampire, I’m not sure which.”

Despite the ribbing, I was glad to see Hi. We had identical schedules and spent most lunches together. Joking with someone about being cool was more fun than being unpopular alone. Safer too.

Hi skimmed a few of my pages. “This doesn’t sound great,” he noted, less jocular than before.

He was right. Coop faced an uphill battle.

Hi read a bit more, then put the papers down. “Have you found any good news?”

“Not much,” I admitted, referring to my notepad. “Canine parvovirus is the most widespread infectious disease in dogs. The worst, too. Puppies are at highest risk. Vaccines exist, but living wild on Loggerhead, the pack was never inoculated.”

Hi plopped into a chair. “Of course not.” Chomping on his hero, he nodded for me to continue.

“The most common form of parvovirus is intestinal, known as enteritis.” I skimmed as I spoke. “Coop’s symptoms suggest that’s what he’s got. Loss of appetite, lethargy, vomiting, diarrhea, and fever.”

“How does the little bugger work?” Garbled through meatballs, cheese, and marinara.

“The virus invades the lining of a dog’s small intestine, preventing absorption of nutrients into the bloodstream. Also, look here.” I pulled up a veterinary website. “Enteritis lowers a dog’s white blood cell count. As the animal weakens, the virus tears through its digestive system, opening the way for secondary infections.”

I paused before adding my least favorite part. “Some sites place the mortality rate from untreated parvo as high as 80 percent.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment. Not much to say, really.

“How’d Coop get parvo in the first place?” Hi’s tone reflected the anger I felt.

“My question exactly.”

I’d gone over it a dozen times. I didn’t want to trust my gut. Karsten wouldn’t have infected Coop intentionally, would he?

Shelving that thought, I continued. “We need to be careful. The most dangerous thing about parvo is how easily it spreads. The virus can survive on stuff like bedding or cages for up to six months. We need to bleach everything. Our clothes, shoes, anything that contacts Coop.”

“Does the germ go airborne?” Now Hi sounded anxious.

“No. Parvo spreads through direct contact with dog feces.”

“Great. A dog poop bug. Just what we need.” The rest of Hi’s sandwich sailed into the trash. I’d lost my appetite as well.

“On that note, I’m gone.” Hi pushed to his feet. “I didn’t study for the Spanish quiz.” He sauntered out whistling the South Park theme.

“Remind Shelton we’re meeting after school.” Bolton Prep had two lunch periods; Shelton and Ben ate later. “We still need to track down our soldier.”

I hadn’t forgotten about F. Heaton. I hoped an after-school trip to the public library would solve the case. Ben could cover Coop while Hi, Shelton, and I investigated.

Without turning, Hi gave a thumbs-up. He’d pass the word.

I ran a mental check of our sick ward setup. We needed to bleach all of Coop’s things and every spot where he vomited or pooped. Pretty much anything he contacted, even our hands, clothes, and shoes.

After Coop recovered—and he would recover—we’d scrub the whole bunker, top to bottom.

Nursing Coop wasn’t going to be easy. The experts were unanimous: dogs suspected of contracting parvo should be taken to a veterinary hospital for immediate in-patient treatment. Unfortunately that wasn’t an option. Unless we wanted jail time.

So, contrary to web advice, I hunted for home-care tips. Initial treatment seemed to be geared toward keeping the dog hydrated and preventing secondary infections. I was thankful for our pilfered medical supplies. With the IV bags and antibiotics, we were nearly as capable as a vet.

Every site recommended encouraging the dog to eat, though most advised against solids at first. Some suggested a cooked hamburger-rice mixture once the patient could keep food down. I decided to try the recipe that night.

Our game plan had to work. It was the best we could do.

Tears threatened as I thought of Coop’s chances.!!!Stop. You won’t be that girl crying in the library.

I gathered my printouts and shoved them in my backpack.

While closing the web browser, a thought struck: Coop was half-wolf. How would parvo affect a wolfdog? Would being partly feral change his diagnosis?

My fingers flew over the keys. Five minutes of searching killed any optimism I might have felt. Parvo was equally deadly for wolves and wolfdogs. Coop’s mixed heritage changed zilch.

Disheartened, I pulled up images of wolfdog puppies. The playful little rascals put a smile on my face in no time.

Which is how they snuck up on me.