Gramp pulled back the curtain at the kitchen window. “It’s your girlfriend.”
“Very funny.” Brady sank his hands into the warm soapy dishwater. He pulled the plug. Wobbly stacks of clean dishes sat in puddles along the counter. The floor looked like a swimming pool.
Gramp took a glass pickle jar off the top of the fridge. He unscrewed the lid and dug out a handful of crumpled bills. “As long as you’re going out, you can get us some grub.”
“Who said anything about going out?” Brady peeked around the edge of the curtain. Abra was hanging onto Gramp’s gate, staring at the house. Cool It was leaping against the trunk of a tree and barking, his leash trailing on the ground. “Besides, Mom told me to heat up that leftover tuna casserole for lunch.”
Brady and Gramp looked at each other. “Okay, okay,” said Brady. “But you better write me a list. And don’t tell Mom.”
Grit wandered into the kitchen. He sloshed across the floor and slid under the table. Brady sucked in his breath. It was now or never. “Want to come, Grit? Good boy.”
Grit stretched his lips back and yawned.
“Walkie, walkie,” said Brady. His face felt hot.
Grit twisted himself into a pretzel. He burrowed his nose into his tummy and made snuffling noises.
“Fleas,” said Brady.
Gramp handed Brady his list.
“I said, your dog has…oh, never mind.”
Brady studied the list. Gramp’s writing looked like spiderwebs. The grocery store was four blocks past Reptile Rage. He’d never be able to carry all those groceries on his bike. And the radio had predicted the hottest day of the summer so far. Brady thought about Desert Racer, waiting in the cool garage.
“I sure wouldn’t mind a ride.” He looked hopefully at Gramp. “Like in a truck or something.”
Gramp snorted. “Kids don’t walk these days. When I was a boy, I walked eight miles to school.”
Brady groaned. Next would come the stories about all the wild horses Gramp broke and the million miles of fences he fixed. With a huge sigh he stuffed the money and grocery list into his pocket.
“You really should do something with that dog,” he said.
Just before he slammed the door, he heard a low rumble from Grit. And a gleeful chuckle from Gramp.
“So where are we going?” said Abra.
Brady gave her a hard look. She had pulled her hair into one big pigtail that stuck out on the side of her head like a tap. At least it was a normal brown color today, and she had left her witch’s hat at home.
He hesitated. Cool It danced in circles, looking hopeful. Brady took a couple of steps backwards. “Grocery shopping for Gramp. I guess you can come.”
“Actually, you don’t own the street,” said Abra. “You can’t own streets. And how come your grandfather doesn’t ever come out?”
“He’s…um…sick, all right?”
“What’s the matter with him?”
Brady’s shoulders tightened. On Jupiter, they probably didn’t have girls. “You wouldn’t understand.”
He didn’t really get it himself. Mom said Gramp never used to be this way. She said Gramp never stayed still a minute when Gramma was alive, between working with her on the ranch and taking Grit to dog competitions. And driving Desert Racer, Brady had thought silently. Even Mom didn’t seem to know about Desert Racer. He sighed. You’d think Gramp would go nuts staying inside that gloomy old house day after day. But Brady had seen the frightened look in Gramp’s eyes when Mom suggested once that they take a picnic supper to the park.
Abra was staring at him. Brady changed the subject. He eyed Cool It. “Is this dog trained yet?”
Abra smiled thinly. “Of course.” She picked up the end of her dog’s leash. “Come on, Cool It. Heel!”
They trudged along the hot sidewalk to the grocery store.
Abra smiled proudly at her dog. “I think Cool It’s beginning to understa — ”
Rooof! Cool It gave one gigantic leap forward. He yanked the leash out of Abra’s hand and bounded off in pursuit of a sleek Siamese cat. Brady watched in horror as Cool It crashed into a flower bed and disappeared through an open gate. He cringed when he heard the crash of an overturned garbage can and a man’s voice roaring in rage.
“Some trained dog,” hissed Brady twenty minutes later, when he and Abra had picked up the last piece of sticky, smelly garbage strewn over the yard. Cool It lay in a shady patch, tied to the fence with his leash, watching with interest. He waved his tail enthusiastically when they set off again.
Brady hunched his shoulders and walked as fast as he could.
When they got to the grocery store, Abra said, “Maybe I should bring him inside.”
“Bad idea,” said Brady quickly. He frowned at Cool It. The dog’s pink tongue hung out of the corner of his mouth. “Will he bark if we leave him out here?”
Abra tugged at her pigtail. “He might.”
“Well, he can’t come with us.”
Brady watched while Abra tied the leash around a post. He stared at the panting dog. “Listen here, Cool It. Be–have yourself. Down!”
Woof! Cool It flopped down on the pavement. He stared at Brady with his liquid eyes. Brady tried not to look shocked. He tried to look as if it were perfectly normal for a huge, slobbering, tail-crashing dog to obey him. He smiled weakly at Abra. “That’s how you do it. You have to let your dog know who’s boss.”
“Oh really?” said Abra. “Julia wants to know how your dog training is coming along.”
Brady ignored her. He grabbed a grocery cart and pushed it through the door. He cruised up and down the aisles, clutching Gramp’s list. “Potato chips, wieners, cookies,” he muttered as he filled the cart.
Abra trailed behind him. “This doesn’t look very healthy. My mom would kill me if I bought all that junk.”
Brady groaned. “Go get a bag of carrots if you’re so worried.”
Abra wandered off and came back a few minutes later with the carrots and a flyer. “They had these at the door. There’s a special on tuna fish.”
“Gramp hates tuna fish,” said Brady. “So do I.” He slid a case of orange pop onto the bottom rack of the cart. “Now, chocolate chunk ice cream and we can go.”
When everything was paid for, they went back outside. Cool It was lunging at the end of the leash, barking ecstatically at a lady with a poodle. The lady gave Brady and Abra a frozen look.
“Right,” said Abra. “Just let him know who’s boss.”
Brady’s cheeks burned. “You should train your dog better.” He lifted the bags out of the cart. “Can you carry the small one? I’ve got one more stop.”
Brady and Abra walked four more blocks to the library. Abra stayed outside with Cool It. Brady pushed through the door and hurried to the animal section. Frowning, he scanned the rows of books. You Can be a Vet at Home. A Gerbil’s Worst Nightmare. Make Money With Your Pet. Good Dog! Bad Dog!
Brady glanced through the wide window at the front of the library. Abra was peering into one of the grocery bags. She looked worried. Brady slid Good Dog! Bad Dog! off the shelf. He examined the picture on the back cover. A big man with a black beard beamed. Dogs with lolling tongues and bright eyes crowded around him. Brady had a good feeling about this guy.
Brady sped to the checkout counter and signed out the book. He slid it under his T-shirt.
When he got outside, Abra said, “What did you get?”
“Nothing,” said Brady. He wasn’t going to tell Abra he was about to discover the secret to dog training. He leaned over the bag of groceries and slipped the book between the wieners and potato chips. He picked up the bag. “Okay, let’s go.”
Abra was staring at him oddly.
Brady shifted the bag to his other arm. “What?”
Abra grinned. “Nothing, except the ice cream’s melting.”
They both stared at the thin brown stream trickling down Brady’s arm.
“Gramp and I like our ice cream soft,” said Brady in an icy voice. He held his head high and marched down the sidewalk.