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GOOD NEIGHBORS

On Sunday morning, the sky was covered with thick, puffy clouds like gray marshmallows. Joey arranged paper plates, napkins, and plastic knives, forks, and spoons on the dining room table. His mother chopped vegetables and made a fruit salad.

“Joey—come give me a hand, please.” His mom was standing by the fridge, the door trying to close on her. “Hold this open, will you?”

“Sure, Mom.” He held the door while she struggled with the large pot of vegetarian chili.

“I do not know who Lucia thinks is coming—a vegetarian army?” She lugged the pot to the stove.

“But it’s really good,” Joey said.

“Go ahead and put the drinks in the fridge, now that I’ve made room. I’m going to go upstairs for a catnap before everyone comes. Can you feed Naja and let her out into the yard?”

“Sure.”

“You say anything besides ‘sure’?”

“Sure.”

“That’s my boy.” She ruffled his hair. Joey ducked, grinned, grabbed the stacks of cups on the counter, and dashed out of the kitchen.

Joey let himself into the Edwardses’ house, closing the screen door softly behind him. It smelled like breakfast. Jazz played on the music system.

“Hey, Mrs. Edwards, Mr. Edwards,” Joey called out.

Zola sat up from her spot on a blanket on the turquoise couch. She almost toppled the weird-looking lamp on the side table by wagging her tail. She had a big pink bow around her neck.

“There you are,” Mrs. Edwards said as she entered the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. “Would you like pancakes and bacon, before we get started?”

“Thank you, but I already had breakfast,” Joey said.

“Well, that doesn’t have to stop you—you’re a growing boy.”

“OK, then—yes, please.”

“Can I have some, too?” Zola said to Mrs. Edwards.

Mrs. Edwards had already started back to the kitchen. “Of course, you both get some.” Boy and dog followed her.

“What’s with that dumb bow, Zola?” Joey said.

Zola looked hurt. “You don’t like it?”

Mrs. Edwards gave Joey a look. “Zola’s dressed up for the party. Doesn’t she look nice?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Zola. I don’t know anything about girls’ clothes.” Sometimes he almost forgot Zola was a girl, what with her size and scruffy wiry fur. She had a number of scars and limped sometimes. Joey could tell she didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that happened, so he never pressed it.

Joey wolfed down his pancakes with real maple syrup and crispy bacon—just how he liked it. Meanwhile, Mrs. Edwards measured ingredients into bowls, melted butter in the microwave, and got the mixer out.

Mr. Edwards appeared from the study next to the kitchen. “OK, Zola, all ready for your practice. Oh, hi, Joey. Here for your lesson in explosives and expletives?” Mr. Edwards said.

“Say what you like. Guess you won’t want any of this lemon-raspberry cake with coconut icing?” Mrs. Edwards said as she retrieved two round cake pans.

“Oh, I’ll get me a nice big slab, don’t you worry. Does Joey have time to see Zola play before you two start?” Mr. Edwards said.

“Sure,” Mrs. Edwards said.

Zola led the way into the study. There was a set of pedals from an electric organ on the floor, wired up to the keyboard. Mr. Edwards made a sweeping gesture toward the pedals. “And now I bring you the lovely Miss Zola on foot, or as we call them, paw pedals!” Mr. Edwards made the sound of a crowd cheering by blowing into his hands.

Zola nodded her head in a little bow. With her right front paw, she plunked out “Happy Birthday” without a single mistake. She turned and sat down facing Mr. Edwards and Joey.

“Wow!” Joey said.

“Do you think your mom will like it?” Zola said.

“Like it? She’ll LOVE it!” Joey said and gave the dog a big hug. She thumped her tail hard against the wooden floor.

“Joey?” Mrs. Edwards called from the kitchen. “I need your help.”