“Does anybody want one more pancake?” Dad stood by the stove with a spatula in his hand.

“No, thanks,” said Lizzie.

“No, thanks,” said her younger brother Charles, at exactly the same time.

They stared at each other. “Pickle Jinx!” yelled Charles.

Lizzie thought fast. She was ready this time. “Beautiful Genius,” she said. Then she started to laugh.

The Bean started to giggle, too. He banged his fork on his syrup-smeared plate. “Bootifulgeeny!” he yelled. The Bean was Lizzie’s youngest brother. His real name was Adam, but nobody ever called him that. He would probably be the Bean forever, or at least until he started kindergarten.

Charles groaned. “C’mon, Lizzie —” he began.

Lizzie glared at him.

Charles rolled his eyes. “I mean, come on. Beautiful Genius. Really? Are you sure about that?”

Lizzie ran a finger through a puddle of syrup on her plate. She licked her finger, smiled, and nodded. “Yup,” she said. “That’s how Pickle Jinx works, remember? Whatever word I say first after you say ‘Pickle Jinx,’ that’s what you have to call me for the rest of the day.” Pickle Jinx was all the rage in Lizzie’s fourth-grade class, and in Charles’s second-grade class, too.

“Yeah, I remember.” Charles slumped in his seat. “I liked it better the time you said, ‘No, Wait!’”

Lizzie grinned at him. That was exactly why she’d vowed to be prepared for the next Pickle Jinx.

Mom pushed her chair back. “Well, whatever you two want to call each other, just do it quietly, please. I’m looking forward to a nice, relaxing Sunday. All I want to do is lie on the couch with a bellyful of pancakes and work on the crossword.”

“I’ll clear the table,” Lizzie volunteered.

“Really?” Mom looked surprised. “Thanks! That would be great. That’s very nice of you, Lizzie.” She picked up the thick newspaper and, yawning, headed for the living room. Dad ruffled Lizzie’s hair and followed Mom out of the kitchen.

As soon as her parents were out of sight, Lizzie smiled down at Buddy, the adorable brown-and-white puppy sitting near her chair. His brown eyes shone with hope as he stared back at her, his brow wrinkled in the cutest “how-can-you-resist-me?” look.

Buddy was the best puppy ever — and Lizzie had known a lot of puppies to compare him to. The Petersons fostered puppies. They took care of pups who needed homes, and found each one the perfect forever family. They’d cared for wild puppies and mellow pups, big ones and tiny ones. But most of them stayed for just a few days or a few weeks. Buddy was the only one who had stayed forever. He was part of the Peterson family.

Lizzie was dog-crazy. She loved all dogs, and all puppies. But there was no question that she loved Buddy best. “Guess what?” Lizzie whispered to him now. She reached for her plate.

“Lizzie!” said Charles. “You’re not going to —”

Lizzie swiveled her head around to give Charles a look.

Charles cleared his throat. “I mean, Beautiful Genius,” he mumbled. “You know Mom says we’re not allowed to let Buddy lick our plates.”

Lizzie put a finger over her lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Just this once. Maple syrup is his favorite treat ever.” Lizzie knew it was a safe treat, too. Some things weren’t good for dogs, like chocolate or grapes, but a few drizzles of maple syrup would be fine.

Charles hesitated. He looked down at Buddy, who stared back and put a paw on Charles’s leg. Then Charles nodded. Lizzie knew that he couldn’t resist Buddy, either. “Okay,” he said, grinning at her as they both put their plates down on the floor. Buddy went to work, licking so hard that he pushed Lizzie’s plate clear across the kitchen.

“Ha!” yelled the Bean. “Buddy likes syrup!”

“Shhh, shhh.” Lizzie put a finger to her lips. “Buddy won’t get syrup if Mommy hears you.”

The Bean put both hands over his mouth and watched, his eyes dancing, as Buddy licked every drop of syrup off Lizzie’s plate, then went after Charles’s. “Mine, too!” he said, holding up his plate so that syrup began to drip onto his lap.

Quickly, Lizzie grabbed it and put it down for Buddy. “There you go,” she said lovingly. Buddy’s tail wagged so hard that it thumped against Lizzie’s chair. He vacuumed up every bit of syrup, then sat back and licked his chops as he looked hopefully at Lizzie. “That’s it,” she said, holding up her hands. Mom and Dad never seemed to end up with extra syrup on their plates.

She hummed as she cleared the table and stuck the dishes into the dishwasher. Like her mom, she was looking forward to a nice, relaxing Sunday. Lizzie had been really busy lately, between school, volunteering at the animal shelter, and her dog-walking business. She and her best friend, Maria, were partners in AAA Dynamic Dog Walkers, and they walked about a dozen dogs every single day after school. Even dog-crazy Lizzie had to admit that sometimes it all seemed like a little too much.

“Hey, Lizzie, want to —” This time, Charles stopped himself. “I mean, hey, Beautiful Genius, want to play catch out back?”

“No, thanks.” Lizzie was really enjoying her Pickle Jinx name. “I’m going to work on my scrapbook.” Lizzie kept a scrapbook of all the puppies the Petersons had fostered, and it needed updating.

She was up in her room, pasting in a picture of a sweet, energetic chocolate Lab named Cocoa, when the phone rang. “Lizzie!” called her mom after a few minutes. “It’s your aunt Amanda. She needs your help with a puppy.”