At least with Malcolm out of the picture, I kept every penny I earned. Who needed him anyway?

I could do just fine without him, if only I could read my handwriting. I really needed to work on my penmanship. I went to the wrong houses. I accidentally showed up at the wrong times.

I even charged people the wrong amounts of money.

The worst money exchange happened when I dropped off Chucky the Chihuahua.

“That’s six dollars, please,” I said to Ms. Greenleaf.

“I have a ten,” she said, dipping into her purse. “Do you have change?”

I counted out four singles. “Here you go.”

“Wait. Here’s a twenty.”

“No problem.” I counted out five more singles and a five.

“I don’t want all these singles.” She handed five of them back to me. “Can I have another five-dollar bill?”

“Sure.” I gave her one.

“Oh, look. I have a ten. Can I get change for it?”

I handed her two five-dollar bills.

She handed me one of the bills back. “I’ll take ones, please.”

I counted out five ones.

“And can I have my twenty-dollar bill back?”

“Sure.” I handed her the twenty and she handed me a stack of singles and fives.

“And do you have change for the twenty?”

I sighed but gave her some fives and some singles back.

This went on for a while. When I got home I realized that somehow I paid her five dollars.

I also walked a pig. On the phone, I thought Mrs. Ryan said she needed me to walk a pug. Hamlet the potbellied pig was small, fat, and slow. Plus, he snorted constantly and did not want to move. Mrs. Ryan told me he would chase after food, so I had to hold some corn in my hand and have him run after me. I was scared to death of banging into something and then having Hamlet jump on top of me and eat all the corn. Then I’d never get him home again. I’d probably never get him off me, either.

But it went all right, I guess. We made it around the entire block. But I wasn’t planning on walking any more pigs.

After that, I rode my bike up to Grand River Avenue, my fliers tucked under my arm. I put them on lampposts and car windshields and walls and anywhere else I could think of. I’d make You Oughta Call Otto’s Dog Walking Service a household name.

Dog walking. Not pig walking.

But I hadn’t been the only one putting up signs. Lexi had been busy. Again. Unfortunately for me.

Everywhere I turned, I saw signs that made me feel more and more depressed. In the window of the hair salon was a bright pink poster that read, HAIR’S LOOKING AT YOU, KID! but with Lexi’s unmistakable glitter style. When I went to get a better look, my fears were confirmed. In small print at the bottom were the words, SIGNS BY LEXI.

I felt dizzy and had to sit down on the sidewalk for a moment.

I noticed other signs, too. The hardware store window featured a poster with a picture of a hammer and the words IT’S HAMMER TIME AT LOUIE’S HARDWARE HOUSE! On the bottom were those three dreadful words that felt like someone had pummeled me in the stomach with a watermelon: SIGNS BY LEXI.

I put some of my signs up, but my heart wasn’t in it. My signs seemed so small and uninteresting compared to Lexi’s glitter monstrosities.

Had she earned five hundred dollars for a pet? Was she close? I was so far away from earning that much. After doing horrible at school, in soccer, and losing my best friend — what if I lost the Pet War, too?

The thought was too horrible to even imagine.