I reeled back and landed on my butt, pressing a hand to my mouth to stop myself from yelping. March looked to see what had frightened me, and when he recognized Crowley, I had to dig my fingers into his arm so he wouldn’t take off without us. If we moved too fast, we’d all be caught. I shuddered at the thought.
After my breathing steadied, I eased back to my perch at the wall, trying to listen in, but their conversation was lost to the sound of the generator and maybe even the beating of my heart. Still, all I could think was that we had been right: Crowley had been part of the dognapping ring all along.
I dropped to my knees and crawled closer, trying to hear what they were saying. March grabbed at my ankle, but I kicked him away. They shifted as they talked, their backs mostly to me. Two bar tables stood between us, but if they moved just right they would see me.
“You’re being sloppy,” Crowley said. “All the news recently has been about dogfights. The police uncover you, and we’re not far behind.”
The man’s voice rose in anger. “Our operation’s tight—you worry about yourself and keep the big dogs coming our way. We’ll be fine.”
“I can’t get them to you any faster,” Crowley said. “We have a strict process. I’ll note the request for more, but you look full here.” There was a pause, and my breath caught in my throat as I waited for them to move. They stayed put. “What’s your capacity at the warehouse?”
“We need at least ten more,” the man grumbled, an angry edge still in his voice.
“Okay. We’ll work on it.”
I caught a glimpse of Madeleine peering around the carousel pavilion, and my heart seemed to explode in my chest.
“I’ll call with news,” Crowley said, and ducked out the shelter, away from the carousel. The other man followed him to the path but then turned in the opposite direction, toward the old log-barrel ride. I stood as soon as it looked like the coast was clear.
March and CindeeRae raced toward me, and the dogs pulled at their chains and barked at us, baring their teeth. We backed away from them, moving deeper into the shelter. Most were pit bulls with clipped tails and ears, their fur spotted with blood. One of the biggest dogs seemed to be missing an eye, or it was just too swollen for me to see. I swayed, dizzy.
The barking echoed under the tin roof and vibrated in my chest. Madeleine, hearing the commotion, waved at us from the pavilion. “I’m over here, guys,” she yelled.
My stomach dropped. I grabbed CindeeRae’s and March’s hands and pulled them to the back of the shelter and out the opposite side, the chains clanging as the dogs strained toward us. Motioning for Madeleine to follow, we rushed down the path, just as two men—the one we’d seen with Crowley, and another man—charged at us from the log-barrel ride. The man who had been with Crowley was short and had thick arms covered in tattoos, while the other was tall and skinny with a scraggly beard that he had braided into a tiny point.
We shot the other way, sprinting toward the exit behind the Jack Rabbit. Madeleine’s soccer speed put her in the lead, while March fell behind. As we were passing the old Magic Summer Theater, I looked back over my shoulder for him and realized he had fallen, his leg caught in a hole from an upended fence post.
I veered off, looping around the Viking ship to get back to March, CindeeRae following me. As the men drew closer, their feet pounding on the pavement, Madeleine appeared like a ghost, dragging March to his feet just as the men rounded the corner to the old Magic Summer Theater. With superhero strength, Madeleine wrapped March’s arm around her shoulder and ran down the path with him like they were competing in a three-legged race. CindeeRae and I changed direction and caught up to them just as they slipped through the break in the fence.
Madeleine screamed as we ran to our bikes, “Kidnappers! We’re being attacked! Help!”
No one followed after us as we pedaled home, our bikes weaving in and out of the bright streetlights.
Madeleine called the police tip line from her cell phone as we huddled around her in March’s basement. We listened as she told them about the dogs chained up inside Magic Planet, and the big men lumbering about. She hung up when they asked for her name and number, and we all stood breathless for a few seconds.
Because it was dark, our parents came to pick us up, and I walked with Madeleine to our bikes parked in March’s driveway. Her mom sat in the front of a big SUV, talking on the phone while Madeleine lifted her kickstand with the toe of her shoe.
“You’re not bad to hang out with,” I said. “So why are you so mean and bossy?”
She stopped walking her bike to look at me, and I thought her expression was probably the same one she gave soccer opponents trying to score a goal. “You try being the biggest kid in your class and Korean. When I was younger, kids picked on me all the time.” She shrugged. “They don’t anymore.”
There was no excuse for being mean, but I understood what it was like to be different. “Well, I just wanted you to know that I think you’re brave.” I busied myself with my kickstand. “And you saved March today, so…thank you.”
Even in the darkness I could see a grin curl at her lips. “You’re kinda bossy, too,” she said. “But I think you’re a good detective.”
It was almost a direct quote of the first item from the friendship list I had written down for Mrs. Hewitt last week. We shared a smile as her mom stepped from the SUV. I watched Madeleine roll her bike to the car and remembered the day I tried pelting her with a Jolly Rancher but hit our music teacher instead. I snorted.
Madeleine turned around and looked at me just as Dad rounded the corner of Colonial. “What?” she asked.
I repeated a line from our detention song. “‘Teacher thinks that I sound funny…’”
Madeleine added, “‘But she likes the way you sing.’”
“Unlikely,” I blurted, and this time Madeleine laughed, too.
“Totally unlikely,” she agreed.
I waved to her as I rode my bike toward Dad.