it was still there. No one had taken it down.
It’s working
, I realized, getting goose bumps at the thought.
Ace’s crazy plan is actually working
. I grinned.
What kind of dog should I choose?
In my head, I began making a list of my favorites. A snuggly, smushy-faced pug? A whiskery Scottie? A beagle like Bridget, with long, velvety ears? Or a mixed breed … a snuggly, whiskery, velvety-eared one-of-a-kind dog?
Decisions, decisions.
Then, one morning, I came back inside after walking O.J., and I heard my parents talking with someone in our kitchen.
“Zelly,” called my mom cheerfully, “guess who’s here?”
Allie?
I thought, even though she wasn’t due back from camp yet. I ran in, and who should I see but …
Jeremy Fagel.
Sitting at the kitchen table with my mom, dad, and Sam.
“Thanks,” he said, as my mom handed him a glass of orange juice. “I just figured out this was your house, so I stopped by to see if you wanted to volley with me.”
“Volley?” I asked.
He held up a tennis-racket-shaped bag, which had beensitting on the empty chair next to him. “There are some courts over at the university. We could just hit balls for an hour, if you want.”
“Yeah, but I don’t—” I started to say.
“I think I have an old racket you could use, Zelly,” said my mom, jumping up. “Let me go look.”
“It took me a couple of days to find you,” announced Jeremy, looking pleased.
“Find me?”
“Yup. I saw you walk around the corner, so I was pretty sure you lived on Cliff Street, but I wasn’t sure which house. I thought with the ‘dog walking’ I’d see you on the street again, but no such luck.” He used his fingers to make quotes in the air when he said the words
dog walking
.
“How’d you track us down?” asked my dad, looking amused.
“I noticed your car because it has a Coney Island bumper sticker. But it also has a Red Sox bumper sticker, which threw me off at first because I knew you were from New York. But
then
I noticed that the Red Sox bumper sticker looked pretty new, so I figured maybe you got it when you moved because you knew how much people in New England hate the Yankees.”
My dad grinned. “Nice detective work,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to kill you now.”
Jeremy laughed. “Oh, I won’t tell,” he promised. “Besides, my dad is actually a Yankees fan too. He grew up in Flatbush. It drives him nuts that me and my brother Seth root for the Sox.”
“I can imagine.”
“But the truth is,” admitted Jeremy, looking sheepish, “I still wouldn’t have rung the bell if Zelly’s shoes hadn’t been out front. I recognized them from the day we met. Seth bet me I couldn’t track you down, so ha! He owes me five bucks.”
“Voilà!” cried my mother, returning to the kitchen holding up a tennis racket. “This was mine in college. Probably could stand to get restrung one of these days, but for today it should do okay.”
Just then, Ace came into the kitchen.
“YOU GOT ANY TUMS?” he demanded.
Jeremy jumped to his feet.
“WE HAVE COMPANY?” boomed Ace.
“Hi, I’m Jeremy Fagel,” said Jeremy, holding out his right hand to shake. Ace took it and shook it heartily.
“ABRAHAM DIAMOND, GOOD TO MEET YOU,” said Ace, acting like Jeremy was some kind of bank president or something. “CALL ME ACE.”
“Good to meet
you
, Judge Diamond. Zelda speaks very highly of you.”
“IZZAT SO?” Ace looked over at me and raised one shaggy eyebrow like he found this difficult to believe.
“She told me all about the psychology experiment the two of you are running.”
“THE WHA?”
“You know, the experiment. With O.J.?”
“You TOLD him?” yelled Sam, looking at Ace with panic and fear.
“It’s okay. Grandpa said it was okay,” I blurted, trying desperately to control the situation. “Right, Grandpa?”
“WHATEVER YOU SAY, KID,” said Ace, winking at me.
“You kids better hit the courts before it gets too
It’s working
, I realized, getting goose bumps at the thought.
Ace’s crazy plan is actually working
. I grinned.
What kind of dog should I choose?
In my head, I began making a list of my favorites. A snuggly, smushy-faced pug? A whiskery Scottie? A beagle like Bridget, with long, velvety ears? Or a mixed breed … a snuggly, whiskery, velvety-eared one-of-a-kind dog?
Decisions, decisions.
Then, one morning, I came back inside after walking O.J., and I heard my parents talking with someone in our kitchen.
“Zelly,” called my mom cheerfully, “guess who’s here?”
Allie?
I thought, even though she wasn’t due back from camp yet. I ran in, and who should I see but …
Jeremy Fagel.
Sitting at the kitchen table with my mom, dad, and Sam.
“Thanks,” he said, as my mom handed him a glass of orange juice. “I just figured out this was your house, so I stopped by to see if you wanted to volley with me.”
“Volley?” I asked.
He held up a tennis-racket-shaped bag, which had beensitting on the empty chair next to him. “There are some courts over at the university. We could just hit balls for an hour, if you want.”
“Yeah, but I don’t—” I started to say.
“I think I have an old racket you could use, Zelly,” said my mom, jumping up. “Let me go look.”
“It took me a couple of days to find you,” announced Jeremy, looking pleased.
“Find me?”
“Yup. I saw you walk around the corner, so I was pretty sure you lived on Cliff Street, but I wasn’t sure which house. I thought with the ‘dog walking’ I’d see you on the street again, but no such luck.” He used his fingers to make quotes in the air when he said the words
dog walking
.
“How’d you track us down?” asked my dad, looking amused.
“I noticed your car because it has a Coney Island bumper sticker. But it also has a Red Sox bumper sticker, which threw me off at first because I knew you were from New York. But
then
I noticed that the Red Sox bumper sticker looked pretty new, so I figured maybe you got it when you moved because you knew how much people in New England hate the Yankees.”
My dad grinned. “Nice detective work,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to kill you now.”
Jeremy laughed. “Oh, I won’t tell,” he promised. “Besides, my dad is actually a Yankees fan too. He grew up in Flatbush. It drives him nuts that me and my brother Seth root for the Sox.”
“I can imagine.”
“But the truth is,” admitted Jeremy, looking sheepish, “I still wouldn’t have rung the bell if Zelly’s shoes hadn’t been out front. I recognized them from the day we met. Seth bet me I couldn’t track you down, so ha! He owes me five bucks.”
“Voilà!” cried my mother, returning to the kitchen holding up a tennis racket. “This was mine in college. Probably could stand to get restrung one of these days, but for today it should do okay.”
Just then, Ace came into the kitchen.
“YOU GOT ANY TUMS?” he demanded.
Jeremy jumped to his feet.
“WE HAVE COMPANY?” boomed Ace.
“Hi, I’m Jeremy Fagel,” said Jeremy, holding out his right hand to shake. Ace took it and shook it heartily.
“ABRAHAM DIAMOND, GOOD TO MEET YOU,” said Ace, acting like Jeremy was some kind of bank president or something. “CALL ME ACE.”
“Good to meet
you
, Judge Diamond. Zelda speaks very highly of you.”
“IZZAT SO?” Ace looked over at me and raised one shaggy eyebrow like he found this difficult to believe.
“She told me all about the psychology experiment the two of you are running.”
“THE WHA?”
“You know, the experiment. With O.J.?”
“You TOLD him?” yelled Sam, looking at Ace with panic and fear.
“It’s okay. Grandpa said it was okay,” I blurted, trying desperately to control the situation. “Right, Grandpa?”
“WHATEVER YOU SAY, KID,” said Ace, winking at me.
“You kids better hit the courts before it gets too
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