Mavis rode the skateboard up and down the driveway and waited for Rose to come outside. She wished Rose wasn’t such a worrywart.
Worried about going into the woods.
Worried about Amanda Simm tattling.
Worried about Mr. Duffy.
But still, Rose was her best friend. Mavis supposed you had to accept your best friends just the way they are, even if they happen to worry a lot.
When Monroe Tucker started using the weed whacker around the edges of the flower beds, Mavis left the skateboard in the driveway and went around back to peer through the window in the kitchen door. Her mother was in there scrubbing the copper bottom of a pot, something Mavis knew she hated to do.
“I don’t get why the bottom of a gol-dern pot has to be shiny and perfect. It’s a pot, for criminy’s sake,” her mother had complained just the night before. “Hasn’t she ever heard of ‘the pot calling the kettle black’?”
Mavis opened the door a crack and said, “Where’s Rose?”
“How should I know, Mavis? I’m too busy being Cinderella.” She slammed the pot onto the kitchen counter and reached for another one.
Mavis pushed the door open, and, before her mother could holler at her, she darted across the kitchen, through the swinging door, over the thick dining room rug, across the shiny marble floor in the foyer, and up the stairs to Rose’s room.
“Hey,” Mavis said. “Let’s go look for Henry.”
Rose looked surprised to see Mavis in her bedroom. But she looked even more surprised when Miss Jeeter burst into the room and let out a string of harsh words for Mavis.
What on earth was she thinking, busting into this house like that?
Couldn’t she go one day without giving her mother a headache?
How many times had they gone over the rules?
Mavis’s answers were short.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“About a hundred.”
Then Miss Jeeter stormed off back downstairs. When the stomp, stomp, stomp of her angry footsteps faded and the rattle of pots and pans drifted up from the kitchen, Mavis grinned at Rose.
“Let’s go look for Henry,” she said.
Rose hesitated but then said, “Um, okay.”
So off they went, down the driveway and up the road toward Amanda’s house, Rose running along beside Mavis on the skateboard.
When they got closer, Mavis got off the skateboard and said, “Okay, now we have to be stealthy.”
Rose didn’t answer. She looked around nervously as if Amanda was going to jump out from behind a tree any minute.
“Here’s what we do,” Mavis said. “We run as fast as we can through Amanda’s front yard and then along the fence until we get to the woods. Then we start looking. Easy peasy.”
Mavis put the skateboard behind a shrub on the side of the road and motioned for Rose to follow her. Then she took off running across the yard, up the brick walkway that ran beside the garage, along the wrought-iron fence that enclosed the backyard, and into the woods behind the house.
When they were far enough into the woods, Mavis stopped, her hands on her knees, panting.
Rose sat on the ground and dumped dirt out of her sandals and brushed pine needles out of her hair. Then she looked up at Mavis and said, “I don’t think I should be here.”
“Oh, good grief, Rose, don’t be such a scaredy-cat.”
“I’m not a scaredy-cat.”
Mavis lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms.
“I’m not,” Rose said, not very convincingly.
Mavis shrugged. “If you say so.”
Then she started off through the woods, stepping over rotting logs and pushing past tangled vines and overgrown shrubs.
Every now and then, she glanced behind her. Rose was following, looking very unhappy.
Mavis cupped her hands around her mouth and began to call. “Henry! Here, boy! Henry!”
Then, imagine Mavis’s surprise when a dog poked its head from behind a cluster of holly bushes.
Mavis stopped.
Rose stopped.
The dog’s face was white. His ears were brown. His nose was very long and very thin.
“This is Henry!” Mavis said. “It has to be.”
Mavis took a few slow steps toward the bushes, saying, “It’s okay, fella. I won’t hurt you.”
The dog stayed put, watching Mavis with fearful brown eyes, but Mavis could hear his tail wagging.
Swish, swish, swish in the bushes.
“So, what do we do now?” Rose asked.
“I’m going to try and grab him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He might bite you.”
Mavis flapped a hand at Rose. “I’ll let him smell me first. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Mavis held her hand out toward Henry, who took a slow, careful sniff.
Then she took two quick steps toward the bushes, reaching for him, but he was gone in a blink, jumping over logs and darting around trees before disappearing out of sight, leaving Rose and Mavis alone in the woods.