FALA WAS SITTING ON the marble steps of the town hall. I’m not kidding. It was like he was waiting for us or something. When he saw us coming around the corner, he trotted right over and gave us a look that said, “Here I am. What took you so long?”

Olive couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him. “Oh, Fala baby, Fala baby,” she squealed. “We found you. You’re here. You’re safe. Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

It was pretty embarrassing.

Mrs. Roosevelt was happy to see Fala too. Even though she just ruffled his ears and said, “You naughty rascal,” I heard the crack in her voice. Then she bent low over his head to hide her face and swiped a tear from the corner of her eye. I guess she’d been more worried than she let on.

I don’t mean to sound sappy or anything, but my heart did a little dance when Fala finally escaped from Olive’s kisses long enough to put his front paws on my knees. I wanted to yell at him for running away and not listening and making us all worry. But when the little guy wiggled and smiled his funny dog smile by curling back his lip to show his teeth, I just sort of melted. “Come on, buddy,” I said to him. “Let’s go home.”

“Not until we’ve spoken with the mayor,” said Mrs. Roosevelt.

“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head so hard I thought it might come off. “No, no, that is not a good idea. We cannot get involved. Someone might recognize you.”

Olive rolled her eyes. “Noooo one ever recognizes her.”

I tried a different argument. “Didn’t you hear Chuck and Buzz? The mayor’s already made up her mind. We can’t fight city hall. It’s done.”

“It is only done if you do nothing,” said Mrs. Roosevelt.

“So true,” said Olive. “Tell him, Ellie.”

“Mrs. Roosevelt,” Mrs. Roosevelt corrected her. She turned back to me.

“It is not just the right of Americans to speak up. It is our duty.”

“Hey, that makes me want to sing!” Olive exclaimed. She clapped her hand over her heart and began belting out “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “Ooooh-kay, can you seeeee? By the red parts we washed…”

Obviously, she was still learning the words.

“Democracy is not about words. It is about action.”

“And the monkey’s red hair. The plums bursting in air…”

“This is no ordinary time, Nolan. We must do what is best for this town. This community. This country.”

“And the hooome of the paraaaade!”

“All right, already. I give up.”

“Play ball!” she cried.

We pushed open the town hall’s big double doors and stepped into its cool darkness. The mayor’s office was two doors down on the right.

“Uh-oh,” said Olive.

For a second we just stood there, letting it sink in.

Then Olive made a face. “This stinks!”

“It certainly does,” agreed Mrs. Roosevelt. “Monday will be too late.”

I felt a pinch of sadness. The park shouldn’t be plowed over. But what more could we do?

“I guess that’s that,” I said.

Mrs. Roosevelt shook her head. “We cannot give up so easily. There must be some solution. We have only to think of it.”

“Yeah, well, let’s think about it back at home, okay?” I said.

We crossed Main Street, Fala trotting obediently beside us like a well-trained show dog. We turned the corner. Rolling Hills Middle School came into view.

Olive shaded her eyes. “Hey, isn’t that your team out there on the field, Nolan?”

“Pavlov’s Pest Control?”

The soccer league uses the school’s field.

Coach Filbert’s voice drifted across the field. “Pass it! Pass it!” Obviously, my team was getting in a little practice before tomorrow afternoon’s game against Fred and Ethel’s Cleaning Service.

I ducked behind Mrs. Roosevelt. “Uh…er…no,” I stammered.

“Sure it is,” insisted Olive. “I can see the little cockroach on the backs of their uniforms. Hey, how come you’re not out there with them?”

I jerked my chin toward Mrs. Roosevelt. “Something more important popped up, remember?”

But that wasn’t the whole reason.

I peeked around the First Lady.

Out on the field, the new kid on the team, Heather Lynne, double-scissor-stepped down the field and blasted an arcing shot that hung in the air just long enough for the entire team to gasp before it landed in the goal.

For a kid, Heather is the best soccer player I’ve ever seen.

She makes me feel like the worst.

I’d never felt that way until two weeks earlier, when she’d turned up to play on the team.

“So, Heather Lynne,” C. J. McCabe said, smirking, that first day. “What makes you think you’ve got the moves to play with the Pests?”

“Well, I was the striker on my last team,” she’d replied matter-of-factly.

Eloise Dunlop elbowed me in the ribs. “Sounds like she’s after your position, Nolan.”

Not if I can help it, I thought.

C.J.’s smirk grew bigger. “Let’s show her who’s really got the moves, huh, Stanberry?”

Coach threw the ball in the air.

Thwup!

I bounced it off my knee the way my dad had taught me. Before the divorce, we used to practice our moves in the backyard all the time.

“Nice,” Denzel Sweeney said.

I puffed up my chest. Dad would have been proud.

The ball landed on the ground, but before I could get to it, Heather made a deadly pivot kick that shot past me.

“She’s fast, Stanberry!” called out Giancarlo Cuellar.

“Yeah, Nolan, better watch out!” added Eugene Stickney.

I charged after the ball.

“Girls rule!” yelled Eloise.

Oh, no they don’t! I shouted in my head. Out of my way, Heather!

“Good hustle, Stanberry!” shouted the coach.

Cutting to the center, I hoofed the ball toward the goal, then wound my leg back for a cannonball kick and…missed. My legs flew out from under me. A second later, my butt was in the grass.

C.J. held his stomach and busted out laughing. “You…you…fanny flopped!”

I gritted my teeth, the bats flapping away in my belly.

Heather strolled over and stuck out her hand. “Need help up?” she asked in a calm voice.

“No, I do not need your stupid help!” Smacking her hand away, I stood. This was it. If I didn’t prove my moves now, Coach would make her the team striker.

Huffing and puffing, I ran at the ball again. But Heather just back-heeled it between my legs, then stepped on it. She looked at me, her face set and determined. “Ready?” she said. I knew there was no stopping her. It was in her eyes: she was going to slam it into my chest. She lifted her foot to kick the ball.

I ducked and covered.

And Heather tapped the ball to Denzel.

He booted it into the net.

“Goal!” cried Coach Filbert.

C.J. went into another fit of hysterics.

By this time I felt totally sick. All I could do was watch as my teammates and Heather began practicing passes, shouting and calling to one another. And…this is sort of hard to explain, but I swear I felt myself shrinking. Turning into a teensy-weensy nobody on the team. And it was all hotshot Heather Lynne’s fault.

Anyway, that was the real reason I was hiding behind the First Lady.

“Please, pleeease don’t let anyone from my team notice me,” I mumbled to myself.

Just then, Olive started shouting. “GOOOOO, PESTS!”

Geez, could she be any more obvious?

She waved her arms wildly and hopped up and down. “KICK IT! KICK IT! KICK IT!”

Yes, she could.

Heather Lynne turned and spied me hiding behind Mrs. Roosevelt. She raised a hand in the air.

I closed my eyes and wished the ground would open up and swallow me.

As usual, the ground didn’t.

I had to get away. Grabbing Olive’s flapping arm, I tried to drag her back the way we’d come. It wasn’t easy. Olive is squirmy.

“Lemme go!” she hollered, shaking off my hand.

Mrs. Roosevelt stepped between us and put her hands on her hips. “What is all this tussling about?”

“Olive won’t go home,” I said. My voice sounded nervous and squeaky. I could feel Heather Lynne’s eyes boring into me from across the soccer field.

“But that’s not the way home,” said Olive. She pointed across the field. “This is.”

“My way is…um…uh…a shortcut,” I said.

“No it’s not,” she said.

“Just come on, okay, Olive?” I said through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Roosevelt looked at me curiously. Then she said, “Let us go where Nolan leads.”

“But it’s waaay out of the way,” whined Olive.

Mrs. Roosevelt snapped her fingers.

“Lead on, Nolan,” said Olive.

We were turning the corner onto Sherwood Lane when I bent and pretended to tie my shoe. I glanced at Heather out of the corner of my eye.

She was bouncing the soccer ball off her head.

I felt myself shrink a little more. Basically, I was the size of a raisin.