Aces Wild by Erica S. Perl Page A

with his head buried in his arms. My mother was crouching next to him, one hand on his back.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is Grandpa …?”
    “Grandpa’s fine,” said my mom.
    “It’s all my fault!” said Sam, sitting up and revealing his tear-stained face.
    “Sweetie, let’s not start that again. What matters now is that you remember where you saw him last?”
    “Saw who?” I asked, grabbing Ace’s leash and pulling out a box of Cheerios before yelling in the direction of the stairs, “Aaaa-ace!”
    Sam looked pained. His bottom lip trembled.
    I turned sharply, realizing. “Where’s Ace?” I asked.
    “I was just twying to help,” whispered Sam. When he got
weally
upset, Sam’s r’s were the first thing to go. “I just took him out to pwactice,” blubbered Sam. “To get him weady for …”
    “Where’s Ace?” I repeated, more firmly this time.
    “Carnegie Hall,” wailed Sam. He burst into tears again.
    Just then, the phone rang. My mom let go of Sam and ran to get it. “Hello?” she said. “Yes. Yes, why? Oh my—okay. He’s okay? All right, where is he now? I’ll be right there.”
    “Did they find Ace?” I asked.
    “Yes,” she said distractedly, grabbing her keys off one of the hooks by the door and going into the mudroom for her coat. “He’s been in a little car accident. I need to go pick him up,” she called.
    “What!” I said, alarmed.
    “He’s fine, everything’s fine. It’s just a fender bender, apparently. Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
    “Can I go with you?” I asked, following her.
    “Zelly, I need you to stay here with Sam.”
    “But he’s my dog!”
    My mom looked at me, confused. Then she said, “Oh, honey. Not the dog. Your grandfather. Grandpa’s been in a car accident.”
    “He’s what?!”
    “They said he’s fine but the car’s not drivable, so I need to go pick him up.”
    “Okay, but what about Ace?
My
Ace?”
    “Zelly, he’s got to be in the neighborhood. You and Sam should go out and look for him. I’ll call your dad and tell him to come straight home. Make sure you’re back before it starts to get dark. And if you don’t find him by then, we’ll call the animal shelter and see if maybe someone turned him in. Someone might call too—remember, he has our number on his tag.”
    “Yeah, I know. Okay.”
    Wearing my hoodie over my sweater, I trudged through the neighborhood shaking a box of dog biscuits and dragging my little brother.
    “Hi, Zelly. Hi, Sam,” called Mrs. Brownell, who was out walking her poodles, Maddy and Luna. All three of them were wearing jackets in various shades of pink. She pulled off her matching fuzzy pink earmuffs. “Where’s Ace?”
    “Actually, I was hoping maybe you’d seen him?”
    “No,” said Mrs. Brownell. “But if we do, we’ll make sure he stays put.” I didn’t know how to tell her that if Ace knew how to stay put, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place!
    I offered dog biscuits to Maddy and Luna. Luna turned up her nose, then barked as Maddy devoured hers too. “We’ve spoiled Luna with those fancy Pupcat Bakery treats,” said Mrs. Brownell, shaking her head. “Now she won’t touch anything else.”
    Sam and I walked on, keeping an eye out for Ace.
    “Ace! Acey! Come on, sweetie! A-ace,” I called.
    “I have a stick for you,” added Sam.
    Sam threw sticks at bushes and I didn’t stop him, since one of Ace’s favorite activities was to chase flying things of any kind. I kept hoping he’d come bounding out of the bushes, ears flapping, mouth open wide.
    No such luck.
    Sam fidgeted with the zipper on his jacket, eyes down, bottom lip in a permanent pout.
    “Sam, stop potchke-ing with that,” I ordered. “Come on, any idea where Ace might have gone?”
    “No,” admitted Sam.
    “Well, I guess we’d better hop a bus for New York. Carnegie Hall, here we come,” I said. Sam kicked me in frustration. “All right, okay, stop!” I said. “It’s