Girl's Best Friend (12 page)

Chapter 21

♦     ♦     ♦

Ten minutes later I stared into my half of the closet, with no idea what to wear.

My favorite jeans smelled like dogs and my backup jeans had just come out of the wash, so they felt way too stiff. Wearing a skirt would be trying too hard, and I had the same problem with leggings. Luckily my navy blue cords were clean and perfectly broken in. Now I only had to worry about a top. I looked too much like an American flag in my red-and-white-striped waffle tee. So I put on a plain lavender shirt instead. “Plain” was the key word. Milo was no one I should be trying to impress. In fact, he could be dangerous. That’s why I wore my steel-toed brown boots. Clunky, yes, but practical, too, because who knows what could happen? I might have to kick him. Plus, the heels were low, which would help me in the event that I had to chase him. Or run from him.

I drank an entire glass of water to drown the butterflies in my stomach.

It did not work.

Next I put on some lip gloss, just because I had time to kill. (That’s what I told myself, anyway.)

Then I glanced in the mirror and wiped it off because it looked too shiny.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail and took it down and brushed it out and pulled it back up again.

“You look good,” said Finn as he walked into the room. The rare compliment. “But why bother when you don’t even like him?”

“Cut it out,” I grumbled as I tightened my ponytail.

“It looks better down,” said Finn as he plugged in the heating pad.

“I never asked you,” I said, but I pulled out my ponytail holder and shook out my hair anyway.

Finn buried his face in the heating pad.

“Um, what are you doing?”

“I told you, faking sick.” His voice sounded muffled.

“I don’t think you have to go to such elaborate lengths for Milo,” I said.

A few moments later, Finn tossed the heating pad onto his bed. His hair was mussed and his face bright red. “This is merely practice for future reference.”

“Oh.”

“Feel my forehead.”

I did. “Scorching!”

“Think Mom and Dad would be convinced?” he asked.

“Um, maybe that you’re inexplicably sunburned?”

Just then the doorbell rang.

Finn smiled at me. “Be right back!”

Once he was gone I turned back to the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair one last time.

Then I crept into the hallway, hugged the wall, and peered around the corner.

Milo stood in the doorway looking as cute as ever in faded jeans and a brown corduroy jacket over his ripped navy sweater.

“I shouldn’t get too close. I might be contagious,” Finn said.

Milo shrugged and took a step back. “No worries, dude. We can hang some other time.”

“But I feel bad about canceling after you came all the way over here. Want me to see if my sister’s free?”

“You mean Maggie?”

I ducked back around the corner, thrilled that he’d remembered my name. And at the same time, annoyed with myself for caring.

“She’s the only sister I’ve got,” Finn replied as he turned around and called, “Hey, Maggie. Want to go to a movie or something?”

That was my cue. “What?” I yelled, pretend clueless. I counted to ten and then headed toward the door. “I thought you were sick. Oh, hi. It’s Milo, right? I didn’t even hear the bell.”

I hated the way my stomach flip-flopped. The way he still looked cute in a manner that no thief ever should. Especially the type who steals adorable dogs.

“Milo and I were supposed to hang out,” Finn explained. “But I’m feeling pretty lousy, so I thought maybe you could go instead.”

“Oh.” I put on my best casual-yet-surprised expression, like I hadn’t been getting ready for the last half hour.

“Want to see a movie or something?” asked Milo.

A movie meant sitting in the dark for two hours. Maybe more.

A movie sounded romantic, and if Milo had suggested it last week, I’d have jumped at the chance. But tonight I had to steer clear of anything datelike for many obvious reasons.

On the other hand, if we sat in the dark for two hours, we wouldn’t have to talk. So yes, a movie sounded like the right thing to do.

Unless we shared a tub of popcorn and both reached for a handful of kernels at the same time and he tried to hold my hand. I saw that move on a commercial once.

Or what if I couldn’t control
my
hormones and tried to hold
his
hand?

I’d just have to be strong. Avoid any potentially sticky situations. Slimy situations, really, considering I was talking about buttered popcorn and not candy.

Of course, candy would easily solve that problem. I’d get Junior Mints instead.

“Okay, we can go to the movies but I’m not getting popcorn,” I blurted out.

Milo smiled. “I wouldn’t force you.”

“Right. Good. Um, let’s go.” I pushed past him, pulling my arms in close to my body so we wouldn’t touch. Except my shoulder accidentally brushed against his and I felt a little current of electricity shoot through my body. But did it mean I was afraid of him? Or attracted to him? Or both? I couldn’t tell. Or maybe I just didn’t want to admit the truth.

“You cannot like this guy,” I mumbled to myself.

“What’s that?” asked Milo, following me downstairs.

“Nothing.” I opened the front door and headed outside, jumping to the sidewalk from the third step.

Then I regretted the move, because it probably made me look like a little kid.

Of course, then I regretted having regrets, because why should I care what Milo thought? He’s the bad guy.

We started for the Pavilion, which is sixteen whole blocks away. A fifteen-minute walk if we hurried. That’s a long time to spend with someone you should be avoiding.

“So, um, your dog is cute,” I said.

“Thanks,” said Milo. “She’s not mine, though. I was just, uh, walking her for a friend.”

Liar! Thief! Creep!

I kept these thoughts to myself.

“What’s her name?”

“Bitsy,” said Milo.

“Bitsy? Really?” I asked, all the while thinking, How much are you shaking down her owner for? Is a hundred bucks your going ransom rate? Does it depend on the dog? Or the owner?

I just wished I had the guts to ask him out loud. Nancy Drew would’ve. Of course, Nancy wouldn’t have been attracted to Milo in the first place. She’s faithful to her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. And even if Ned weren’t around, I’m guessing she’d be into someone more clean-cut—the type of guy who’d wear a cardigan or an argyle sweater-vest.

“Yes, Bitsy. You think I could make that up?” asked Milo.

It made me nervous, how convincing he sounded.

I think even if this were a regular date, I wouldn’t have known what to say or how to act. But knowing that Milo was a dangerous criminal made the conversation that much harder.

I wanted to ask him more about Bitsy. Catch him in a lie. But I didn’t know where to begin.

“So, um, when did you move to Brooklyn?” I asked instead.

“I’ve always lived here. Just in another neighborhood, before.” Milo kicked a loose stone up the sidewalk and it bounced into the gutter. “My dad and I lived in Williamsburg.”

“Why’d you guys move here?”

“We didn’t. I did after my dad’s girlfriend moved in with him. She and I don’t get along so well.”

“So you live with your mom?”

“My grandma,” said Milo. “My mom died.”

“Oh.” My heart broke just a little bit. He had no mom. And his dad had shipped him out. He was half an orphan. How sad was that? Could it explain his criminal behavior? Was I being too hard on him? But still, how did that justify stealing innocent dogs? It didn’t. The two had nothing to do with each other.

Still, my chest ached just thinking about it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, never knowing what the right thing to say was.

Milo twisted up his mouth and shrugged. “Yeah, it happened a while ago.”

Just because something happened a while ago didn’t make it any less painful. This I knew. Milo didn’t have a mother every single day of his life. I couldn’t imagine that. But I didn’t say so because I didn’t know how to or even if I should. I half wished I hadn’t brought up his mom in the first place. But at the same time, I was glad he told me. Not that it explained anything, exactly, but just because it told me more about who he was, or about some part of him, anyway.

We walked to the theater in silence and when we finally got there, Milo asked me what I wanted to see.

We settled on an action film starring this old muscley actor whose name I can never remember. We bought tickets and then candy and the theater dimmed as soon as we sat down.

I didn’t offer Milo any Junior Mints and he didn’t ask. He wasn’t missing much. They were stale and half of them had melted together. Milo’s peanut M&M’s were probably the better choice. But he didn’t offer me any of his candy, either.

The movie had lots of explosions and a car wreck and, at one point, a helicopter crashed into a burning building. The hero survived three stabbings and one gunshot wound and still looked cute—and not even super stressed—while he saved the day. He wore a tank top that got torn but not dirty. It bothered me how his shirt stayed sparkling white, like he’d just pulled it out of the washing machine. If I’d seen the movie with Lucy we’d have laughed about it later.

But when Milo and I stepped outside into the dusky night, he asked, “Want to get some pizza?” all serious.

“No thanks.” I faked a yawn and backed away. “I should get going. I’ve got a ton of homework.”

“Want me to walk you?”

“You don’t have to,” I replied quickly. Then I realized I’d messed up. If I went home now, I’d have wasted the whole afternoon. I still had no idea where Kermit was. Or what Milo had done with the other dogs he’d stolen.

If only I knew how to get him to confess.

Um, good movie—steal any dogs lately?

Oh my, look at the time. So where are you hiding Kermit?

Did you do the science homework yet? And by the way, I saw you steal that adorable golden retriever. Do you enjoy extorting grandmothers?

Accusations don’t naturally roll off the tongue. Not mine, anyway.

But I couldn’t blow this chance. I needed more time. “On second thought, I’m starving. Let’s go to the Pizza Den.”

“Cool,” he said.

“Cool,” I repeated.

And then we walked in silence for a while.

“So what did you think of the movie?” he asked once we got to Seventh Avenue.

I shrugged. “It was okay.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

We were approaching a dog tied to a parking meter. A scruffy little mutt, part Chihuahua, I think. And Milo stopped to pet it. The dog raised his head, grateful for the attention, with no idea of whom he was dealing with.

Would this be Milo’s next victim? I could already see the “Missing Dog” poster in my head.

“Hey, let’s go.” I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled without thinking.

Milo looked at my hand and I quickly took it away. “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just, I can’t stay out too late on a school night.”

“Right. Well, maybe I’ll just hang out here. Make sure his owner comes back. You never know who could come by. It’s dangerous, leaving dogs tied up like this.”

I stifled a gasp and tried to act normal. “Um, maybe I’ll wait with you. Keep you company.”

Milo didn’t seem to like this idea. “It might be a while, so if you’ve gotta go … ”

Obviously he was trying to get rid of me. And I couldn’t believe he planned on stealing another dog—practically right in front of me. This was too much. I couldn’t pretend any longer.

“I know what you’re doing, and you’d better stop!” I yelled.

Milo blinked, completely stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you take that golden retriever.”

This funny look passed across Milo’s face. He seemed plenty surprised, but there was something else in his expression, too. Something I couldn’t quite figure out. “Were you spying on me?” he asked.

“No, I just happened to be standing there.”

“Where?”

“Around the corner,” I said. “Watching.”

He grinned. “Uh, I don’t have a dictionary on me or anything, but that’s pretty much the definition of spying.”

“Okay, fine. I guess you could interpret it that way, but that’s not the point. You took that dog!”

“Right—and that lady never should’ve left him tied up on the sidewalk.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it’s dangerous,” he said simply.

“It’s dangerous because of people like you!” I cried. “And what do you do with all those dogs you’ve dognapped, anyway?”

“Wait, you think I’ve been
stealing
dogs?” asked Milo.

“You just admitted it!”

“No, you’re not listening,” he said. “I told you I took the dog. I never said ‘steal.’ ”

“Same difference.”

Milo shook his head stubbornly. “No, it’s not. It’s totally different.”

Chapter 22

♦     ♦     ♦

“Milo’s not the dognapper,” I blurted out as soon as Lucy answered the door the next day.

Lucy laughed. “Um, what are you talking about?” she asked.

And I couldn’t blame her for being confused. Lucy didn’t know I’d seen Milo take the golden retriever outside of Key Food on Monday. Lucy didn’t even know about Kermit being dognapped. I hadn’t told anyone about what had been going on. Not even Finn. So all Lucy knew was that I’d been avoiding her ever since my birthday party last weekend.

But all that had to change because things had just gotten weird.

Um, weirder.

I walked into her house, not waiting to be invited. “Sorry to show up like this, but I had the weirdest nondate with Milo and—”

“You had a date with Milo!” Lucy exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

“It was a nondate.”

“Is that even a real word?”

“Don’t know, but it should be.”

“Well, how would you define it?” asked Lucy.

I thought about this for a second. “It’s complicated, but if I were forced to come up with a—”

“Know what? Never mind. Just tell me about Milo.” Lucy grabbed my hand and pulled me upstairs. “Come on. My parents are in the kitchen and we need privacy.”

Once we got to her room Lucy flopped down on her bed and hugged her knees. “Shoot!” she said.

“Okay, here goes.” I sank down into her blue beanbag chair and took a deep breath. “It all started on Saturday … ”

Ten minutes later, she knew the whole story. From Ivy trying to “borrow” one hundred dollars to our botched attempt at getting Kermit back to me spying Milo taking the golden retriever.

Lucy tilted her head, confused. “But you said Milo wasn’t the dognapper.”

“He’s not. Turns out he only takes dogs for a little while. It’s his thing.”

“It’s his thing?” Lucy glanced at me skeptically. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what I thought at first, but then he explained. Milo thinks it’s wrong to leave dogs tied up alone on the sidewalk. So he takes them in order to scare their owners into acting more responsibly.”

“That’s awful!” said Lucy. “And it’s still stealing.”

“Right,
technically
yes—Milo does steal dogs. Only not really. Like, when I saw him take that golden retriever the other day? He didn’t run off with it. He only hid with the dog around the corner. He taped a warning note to the parking meter and everything. Then, once the owner came back from shopping, he returned her dog.”

“What’d the note say?” asked Lucy.

“ ‘Please be more careful with your dog. If you leave him alone, someone might take him,’ ” I repeated. “That’s his note for boy dogs, anyway. He has a different version for girl dogs. Well, it’s essentially the same note, just with different pronouns.”

“That’s so weird!” said Lucy.

“I think it shows a nice attention to detail. And doesn’t it bug you how some people use ‘he’ and ‘his’ when really they’re talking about boys
and
girls, like as a group? It’s so sexist!”

Lucy shook her head. “No, I mean the whole thing is weird. Him taking dogs, even for a little while.”

“Weird, yes. But he’s trying to do a good thing.”

“But why?” asked Lucy.

“Because he doesn’t want anyone to suffer the way he has. He only started this whole crusade last summer, after he lost his dad’s girlfriend’s dog, Mitsy. Basically, he tied her up outside a deli and went in to buy a drink. And when he got back outside, she’d vanished.”

“So Milo’s a victim of the dognapper, too?” asked Lucy.

“Milo’s the victim of
a
dognapper. I don’t know if it’s the same one. But I’m thinking no, because Milo never got a ransom note. In fact, he wasn’t even living in Park Slope at the time.”

“So how’d he get Mitsy back?” asked Lucy.

I blinked back tears. “That’s the awful part. He never did!”

“No!” Lucy cried.

I nodded. “Isn’t that awful? The whole experience haunts him. Like, he has nightmares about it. But there’s nothing he can do. That’s what he thought at first, anyway. Then he realized something. He couldn’t change the past. Mitsy was gone for good. But he could try to save other dogs by taking them temporarily. He thinks every dog owner deserves a second chance. The one he never got.”

“Okay, I kind of get that. But don’t the dog owners get mad?” asked Lucy.

“Sure,” I said. “And sometimes it backfires, too. One time, Milo told me, he hid with this toy poodle and when the owner came out of the store, he’d forgotten he’d brought her out in the first place. The guy went back to his house to watch a baseball game. Luckily that poodle had tags, so Milo was able to take her home. And once, after he took and returned a giant schnauzer, the owner screamed at him and threatened to call the police.”

“I’d be pretty upset if he took my dog,” said Lucy. “If I had a dog, I mean. Even if it were only for a few minutes.”

“I know, but it’s cool that he feels so passionately about the cause.”

“I can’t believe you went on a date with him and you never even told me,” said Lucy.

“It wasn’t a date. It was a disaster. And I didn’t even tell you the worst part.”

“There’s something worse than wrongly accusing the guy you’ve been crushing on of being a thief?” asked Lucy.

“Yup.” I nodded. “Much. Finn set up the whole thing. You know, pulled the bait and switch like I did last year with Amber?”

Lucy grinned. “Your brother is such a sweetheart!”

I gave Lucy a sideways glance. “Are you kidding?”

“Um, yeah. Totally.”

But for some reason, I didn’t really believe her.

“Anyway, Finn told Milo he was feeling too sick to hang out. Except when we got back to my street, we found him kicking around the soccer ball with Red.”

“Oh no!” said Lucy.

“Finn said he made a miraculous recovery, but I don’t think Milo believed him.”

“Maybe it’s good that he knows you like him,” said Lucy.

“But I’m not even sure how I feel anymore. And yes, I’m relieved that Milo isn’t the evil dognapper behind Kermit’s disappearance, but that still means I’m back to square one. Meaning, I have no idea who did steal Kermit.”

“But why are you helping Ivy when she’s been so awful to you?” asked Lucy.

I frowned. “I’m not helping Ivy. I’m helping her dog.”

“And why does Kermit need help?” asked Lucy. “Because Ivy got distracted while shopping?”

“It sounds bad when you put it that way,” I admitted. “But lots of people tie up their dogs and leave them alone on the sidewalk. That doesn’t mean they deserve to have them stolen.”

“Okay, but why is it your job to find him? Is Ivy even helping?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing,” I said with a shrug. “But it’s kind of my fault he’s still gone.”

Lucy shook her head. “You don’t know that. And you were only trying to help. I think it was smart, going with her and trying to spy. Who knows what could’ve happened if she’d gone alone? Plus, she’s the one who got you involved when she tried stealing your money.”

“Borrowing,” I replied.

“She snuck into your room and tried to take a hundred dollars without asking.”

“Well, when you put it that way … ”

“And maybe Kermit’s dognapper had no intention of ever returning him. Maybe they were just trying to get the money all along.”

Everything Lucy said made sense, but it didn’t change a thing.

“Yeah, but none of that matters because Kermit’s still missing. And he’s the sweetest dog. I’ve got to find him.”

My brain hurt just thinking about this mess. So I stood up and began counting the parquet tile squares in Lucy’s bedroom. And not just counting them—I walked from one end of her room to the other. Each new square was one step.

“What are you doing?” asked Lucy.

“Just walking within the tiles, trying not to step on the cracks. It helps me focus. I do this at home when I’m trying to figure something out.”

I’m surprised I was able to admit it out loud. I’d been doing it for years and never told anyone. Even when Ivy and I were BFFs, it was the kind of thing she’d have made fun of me for. But Lucy didn’t even blink when I tiptoed across her room.

Five, six, seven, eight. I counted in my head because even Lucy must have had a limit to how much dorkiness she could take in one day.

When I hit twelve I found myself in the center of the room. This made me pause. I looked back at where I’d come from. I’d definitely gone halfway.

But something struck me as odd. I just wasn’t sure what.

Lucy pulled out her knitting. “You okay?” she asked.

Too confused, I didn’t answer right away.

How could I be halfway across the room at twelve squares? It made no sense. I continued on my way and ended up at twenty-four—at the other end of the wall.

I wondered if maybe I’d gotten distracted talking to Lucy and counted wrong. So I turned around and walked back across the room. This time when I counted twenty-four squares, I knew I hadn’t made a mistake.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lucy.

“I’m not sure.” I walked it a third time and came up with the same number. “There are only twenty squares in my room.”

“Twenty squares?”

“The parquet tiles on the floor,” I said. “I just counted and you have four more than I do.”

“Huh.”

I noticed that Lucy was working on the same green and white scarf she was supposed to have finished by last weekend. “You know, maybe you should give that one to Finn.”

“No, you were right. He’d just think it was dumb.”

“That’s not what I said. I just know he wouldn’t buy it. I’m sure he’d be flattered if you gave it to him.”

Lucy looked up at me. “You think?”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry I got so sensitive about the twin thing. It looks nothing like the scarf you made for me, and I should’ve known better.”

“Well, anyway. I’ll probably just put it up on Etsy. As soon as I finish I’m going to try to knit an owl. I found this cool pattern. Hold on, I’ll show you.” Lucy stood up and walked to her bookcase.

And I continued to stare at the floor.

“Your room is definitely bigger than mine.”

“That’s impossible,” Lucy replied. “Our rooms are identical. All the houses on this street went up at the same time and they all have the exact same layout.”

“That’s what I thought until just now,” I said. “But you have more squares than I do.”

Lucy shrugged. “Maybe my squares are smaller, so it takes more of them to fill up the room.”

“Maybe,” I replied, although I doubted it. They seemed the same. I lined up my heel at one end and noticed that the tile ended a couple inches past my foot. Just like at home. The squares were the same size. I was almost sure of it. But there was only one way to know for sure. “Can I borrow a tape measure?”

Lucy pulled one out of her knitting bag and handed it over.

I knelt down on the floor and went about measuring. Each square was ten inches exactly. I wrote down the number, not so I wouldn’t forget, but so I wouldn’t doubt myself later.

Once I finished I snapped the tape measure closed and asked, “Mind if I take this home? I need to go measure my room.”

“Okay. But how come?” asked Lucy.

“Long story.”

“Does this have anything to do with Kermit?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” I said, slipping the tape measure into my back pocket. “Okay, not at all. But it’s something I need to figure out.”

“What is it?”

I paused before answering, not knowing how much to tell her. Whether the strange but strong inkling I had about what’d been going on in my building could be true. It was too soon to tell, but my suspicions were strong … “I can’t say right now, but I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay.” Lucy shrugged, dropping the subject.

I gave her a hug and she laughed. “What was that for?”

“Just because,” I said. “Thanks for being a great friend. I’m sorry I’ve been weird about Ivy lately.”

“It’s no biggie. And honestly? Having you defend Ivy is a lot more fun than listening to you complain about her all the time.”

Yikes! “Have I been that bad?”

“Yup,” said Lucy. “Well, sometimes, but don’t sweat it. Everyone’s weird about something.”

“That’s a pretty good motto,” I said. “And I’m hoping my weirdness ends soon.”

Lucy grinned. “Me too.”

I ran home and measured my room twice. Sure enough, it was more than two feet smaller than Lucy’s room. Yet, Lucy was right. Our houses were supposedly identical in shape, size, and layout. Strange. Or maybe it wasn’t so strange. Maybe something was actually starting to make sense.

I gazed out my bay window—the one that looked out onto Garfield Place.

I tapped the wall and found it nice and sturdy—almost an entire foot of solid house between the inside and outside walls.

Next I tapped the wall by Finn’s bed. It sounded solid, too.

Same with the wall where our desks were.

But the wall on my side of the room? It sounded different. Flimsy. Not exactly hollow, but almost. When I knocked harder, it seemed to vibrate.

It made me think of Easter bunnies. How there’s a big difference between a solid chocolate bunny and a bunny shell.

That was my room—three solid walls and one shell. A shell with a sealed-up crawl space door—something I didn’t remember ever seeing on any of Lucy’s walls … 

I sat down in the middle of my room, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my hands.

Something was up. I had no doubt. But my brain felt fuzzy, trying to figure stuff out. So I stood up again and paced across my room, counting the twenty tiles one way and then the other. And then, very suddenly, it all just clicked.

It sounds so simple, but that’s really how it happened. Everything came together in an instant—like those Connect the Dots puzzles I was obsessed with when I was younger.

Some of those puzzles have fifteen numbers and some of them have seventy. You trace your pencil from one to two to three and so on, and at first it just looks like numbers on a page. And then numbers with a random squiggly line going through them. Then they become a familiar shape. And,
bam
—in a flash, you know what you’re drawing. That mysterious shape is revealed.