CHAPTER ONE
“Yum!” Lizzie Peterson swished a hunk of banana-walnut pancake through the pool of sweet maple syrup on her plate. “Your uncle was right,” she told her best friend, Maria, just before she took another bite. “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
“We always try to stop at Al’s on our way to the cabin,” said Maria’s mother.
Maria’s dad nodded in agreement. “It’s a tradition, ever since Teo told us about it.”
Al’s was a truck stop, a place where hungry men and women stopped to eat as they crisscrossed the country in their big rigs, deliveringfurniture and bananas, lumber and running shoes, baseball bats and kitchen faucets. Maria’s uncle Teo was one of those truckers. Lizzie had never met Uncle Teo, but she had heard a lot about him. He was Maria’s favorite uncle, and he stayed with the Santiagos whenever he was in the area. He was funny and handsome and the best hugger ever, and he brought Maria excellent presents from his travels; she had a collection of MARIA mini license plates from almost every state. She was still waiting for Alaska and Hawaii, but Uncle Teo had promised she would get them someday.
Lizzie felt so lucky to be on her way to the Santiagos’ cabin, up north. She had been there once before, and she’d loved it. The pine trees, the trails through the woods, the secret lake—it was a special place. This time, she and Maria planned to explore the woods beyond the lake, where Mr.Santiago had told them there was an old apple orchard. Lizzie could hardly wait to get there.
“How much farther is it to the cabin?” she asked. She drew her fork through the puddle of maple syrup, making swoopy white lines.
“About an hour and a half,” said Mr. Santiago. “Need some help with those?” He pointed his fork at the big pile of pancakes still left on Lizzie’s plate.
Maria had warned Lizzie to order the short stack. “The regular size is huge,” she’d said. “You’ll never be able to eat it all.”
But Lizzie hadn’t listened. “I can eat a million pancakes,” she’d said. “I’m the pancake champion of my whole family. Nobody can eat more pancakes than me.”
Maria had just shrugged. “You always have to make everything into a contest. Go ahead, then. Order whatever you want.”
Now Lizzie sat there, feeling like an overstuffed sofa but still determined to show that she was the pancake champion. “That’s okay,” she told Mr. Santiago. “I can manage.” Slowly, she wiped another bite of pancake through the syrup and put it into her mouth. Too bad Buddy wasn’t lying under the table, the way he would be at home. Buddy would be happy to secretly help her out with finishing her food.
Buddy was the Petersons’ brown and tan puppy, the cutest, most wonderful puppy ever. Of course, it was against family rules to feed Buddy from the table, but sometimes Lizzie just couldn’t resist his sweet, soulful brown eyes. Sometimes she would let a tiny scrap of pork chop or a crumb of corn bread fall to the floor. Buddy would gobble it up happily while Mom frowned and shook her head at Lizzie. “It was an accident,” Lizzie always claimed. Her younger brother Charlesand her toddler brother the Bean (his real name was Adam) also sometimes had “accidents.” Lizzie suspected that even her dad slipped the puppy a bite or two once in a while. Buddy was a lucky dog.
And Lizzie knew she was lucky, too. Lucky to have a dog of her own, and lucky to be part of a family that fostered all kinds of puppies. The Petersons helped puppies who needed homes, taking care of them until they could find the perfect forever family for each one. The puppies could be a lot of work, and it was always hard to give each one up when the time came, but Lizzie loved fostering.
Now Lizzie looked down at her plate. Was she lucky to still have so many pancakes left, even after she had eaten more than her stomach could really hold? She burped. “Oops.” She covered her
“Yum!” Lizzie Peterson swished a hunk of banana-walnut pancake through the pool of sweet maple syrup on her plate. “Your uncle was right,” she told her best friend, Maria, just before she took another bite. “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”
“We always try to stop at Al’s on our way to the cabin,” said Maria’s mother.
Maria’s dad nodded in agreement. “It’s a tradition, ever since Teo told us about it.”
Al’s was a truck stop, a place where hungry men and women stopped to eat as they crisscrossed the country in their big rigs, deliveringfurniture and bananas, lumber and running shoes, baseball bats and kitchen faucets. Maria’s uncle Teo was one of those truckers. Lizzie had never met Uncle Teo, but she had heard a lot about him. He was Maria’s favorite uncle, and he stayed with the Santiagos whenever he was in the area. He was funny and handsome and the best hugger ever, and he brought Maria excellent presents from his travels; she had a collection of MARIA mini license plates from almost every state. She was still waiting for Alaska and Hawaii, but Uncle Teo had promised she would get them someday.
Lizzie felt so lucky to be on her way to the Santiagos’ cabin, up north. She had been there once before, and she’d loved it. The pine trees, the trails through the woods, the secret lake—it was a special place. This time, she and Maria planned to explore the woods beyond the lake, where Mr.Santiago had told them there was an old apple orchard. Lizzie could hardly wait to get there.
“How much farther is it to the cabin?” she asked. She drew her fork through the puddle of maple syrup, making swoopy white lines.
“About an hour and a half,” said Mr. Santiago. “Need some help with those?” He pointed his fork at the big pile of pancakes still left on Lizzie’s plate.
Maria had warned Lizzie to order the short stack. “The regular size is huge,” she’d said. “You’ll never be able to eat it all.”
But Lizzie hadn’t listened. “I can eat a million pancakes,” she’d said. “I’m the pancake champion of my whole family. Nobody can eat more pancakes than me.”
Maria had just shrugged. “You always have to make everything into a contest. Go ahead, then. Order whatever you want.”
Now Lizzie sat there, feeling like an overstuffed sofa but still determined to show that she was the pancake champion. “That’s okay,” she told Mr. Santiago. “I can manage.” Slowly, she wiped another bite of pancake through the syrup and put it into her mouth. Too bad Buddy wasn’t lying under the table, the way he would be at home. Buddy would be happy to secretly help her out with finishing her food.
Buddy was the Petersons’ brown and tan puppy, the cutest, most wonderful puppy ever. Of course, it was against family rules to feed Buddy from the table, but sometimes Lizzie just couldn’t resist his sweet, soulful brown eyes. Sometimes she would let a tiny scrap of pork chop or a crumb of corn bread fall to the floor. Buddy would gobble it up happily while Mom frowned and shook her head at Lizzie. “It was an accident,” Lizzie always claimed. Her younger brother Charlesand her toddler brother the Bean (his real name was Adam) also sometimes had “accidents.” Lizzie suspected that even her dad slipped the puppy a bite or two once in a while. Buddy was a lucky dog.
And Lizzie knew she was lucky, too. Lucky to have a dog of her own, and lucky to be part of a family that fostered all kinds of puppies. The Petersons helped puppies who needed homes, taking care of them until they could find the perfect forever family for each one. The puppies could be a lot of work, and it was always hard to give each one up when the time came, but Lizzie loved fostering.
Now Lizzie looked down at her plate. Was she lucky to still have so many pancakes left, even after she had eaten more than her stomach could really hold? She burped. “Oops.” She covered her
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