I can’t fall asleep that night, so I text Micayla at eleven thirty. I wouldn’t normally do that, but it’s summer and people stay up late. And I’m not sure I can go another day being in this fight with Micayla. It’s too painful.

Come to my house for breakfast tomorrow before dogs. We need to talk.

I wait and wait and wait for a response. Finally, an hour later, she writes.

Will let u know in AM

But when morning rolls around, I still haven’t heard from her. I assume that she’s coming and that she just forgot to text me back. I decide to scramble some eggs and toast some rye bread. I’ll even cut up strawberries and bananas and put some grapefruit juice in a pitcher.

My mom comes in, frazzled because she’s late for a meeting with the Seagate Community Association. “Ooh, maybe I’ll take some fruit to go,” she says. “Wait. Did you make this for me?”

I shake my head. “No. For Micayla. I hope she’s coming.”

“Is everything okay, Rem? I’m starting to worry.”

“It’s okay. Go to your meeting. You’re going to be late.”

She nods reluctantly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you this afternoon. You and I have a date. We’re splitting a banana split. No arguing!”

“Deal.” I smile. Then I start digging through the pots and pans for the little omelet pan. I can’t make an omelet in any pan but this one.

I know it’s a little bit weird to have so many feelings about an omelet pan, but there’s a good reason for it. It’s so small and perfect for making eggs for one or two people. On the other hand, I also hate it. I hate it because I imagine Grandma making eggs in it, all by herself. She never had people over for breakfast, so when she was using this pan, she was all alone. I hate to think about her all alone on Seagate during the year, without us. But then I get happy using this pan because it makes me think of Grandma, and I like thinking about her.

It’s confusing how I can really think this much about a tiny frying pan.

I continue with the breakfast even though I’m not sure if Micayla is coming or not. Luckily, the doorbell rings at nine thirty, so all this food will not go to waste.

“Smells good,” Micayla says, not really looking at me. She comes right in and takes a seat at the kitchen table. She pours herself a glass of grapefruit juice and butters her toast before I’ve even sat down.

I’m glad that she still feels comfortable here. Sure, it’s only been a few days of awkwardness between us, but it feels much longer.

“I guess this is your way of apologizing?” Micayla asks me, after spooning some eggs onto her plate.

I pour myself some juice and try to figure out what to say. “Well, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me about how you’re stealing Mason Redmond? And have become a totally mean friend?”

“Huh?”

“He asked you to go to Sundae Best. I heard it.”

“I don’t like him like that.”

“Why? What’s so bad about him that you don’t like him?”

“Well, he only wanted to go to Sundae Best to discuss the dog-sitting business. That’s what I mean. It wasn’t, like, a date. If that’s what you were thinking.”

I take a small bite of eggs. I’m not really sure what’s happening right now, but it’s not the way I wanted the conversation to go. “But anyway, I wanted to talk to you about other stuff. I wasn’t only thinking about the Mason thing.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Micayla says. “You always think about yourself. That’s the problem. When you were sad about Danish, I did everything to cheer you up. And when you wanted to do the doggie day care, I did everything I could to help. But now that I’m going to be a year-rounder on Seagate, you don’t care. And even the whole Mason thing, you don’t care about that either.”

“Micayla, that’s not true.”

“It is true, Remy.” She pushes her chair back from the table, and it makes a terrible screeching sound. “I have to give up all my friends and my whole life, and you don’t even want to talk about it. For one second, think about somebody other than yourself.”

Micayla walks out of my house without saying anything else. That wasn’t at all how I expected this breakfast to go, and I don’t have time to get upset about it. I have to clean up all the dishes and go get the dogs. But when I look at today’s schedule, there’s a huge problem. I am watching all of our usuals: Oscar, Atticus, Rascal, Marilyn Monroe, plus Tabby and Potato Salad. But I also said I could keep an eye on Palm and the pair of Malteses. That’s nine dogs. And one me.

There’s no way I can handle that.

And now that Micayla wants nothing to do with me, there’s only one person I can call to help.