“Hey,” I said. “I’m ten minutes away.”

“Don’t bother.” She sounded drained. “The party’s canceled.”

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

A huge sigh. “No.”

Kasey was poised, her fingers on the door handle. I gave her a little wave, but she stayed put.

“Hang on, Megan.” I covered the mouthpiece and turned to Kasey. “Bye. Have fun. Hint hint.”

Kasey’s frightened expression made her look about ten years old. “But—I don’t know—what am I supposed to do? What if I don’t like the games?”

“Games? You’re not in sixth grade anymore. It’s a slumber party,” I said. “Just don’t fall asleep first, and you’ll be fine.”

She shook her head, faster and faster, working herself up into a panic. “No, no, I changed my mind. Take me home.”

“Kasey, go inside. You’ll have fun. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

She gave me a desperate look.

“See you at noon,” I said.

She took her time getting out of the car and walked up the driveway at quarter-speed.

I went back to my phone. “Megan?”

There was a pause, and for a second I thought she’d hung up. Then she spoke. “At cheer practice today, I demonstrated a back handspring.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said. “Not at all. But Coach Neidorf called my grandmother. Apparently they had some secret agreement to keep an eye on me.” She was quiet for a long few seconds. “Grandma was spying on me, Lex.”

“Only because she cares about you,” I said, but I knew it was a weak excuse.

“So I’m grounded for a week, and the party’s canceled. Can you call a few people? I’m phone-grounded, too.” Then there was a muffled voice in the background and bumping and shuffling. “I’m almost done!”

“Sure,” I said. “Text me the names.”

“Lex?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. “Don’t have a party without me, okay?”

I imagined Megan sitting in a jail cell, her grandmother—the warden—pacing outside. “Never,” I said. “I swear.”

Carter and I ended up back at my house, watching a Twilight Zone marathon on TV. We were halfway through the one where Captain Kirk finds a magic fortune-telling machine when Carter jostled me. “My foot’s buzzing,” he said.

My purse was under the blanket. He tossed it to me, and I pulled out my phone. Kasey’s name popped up on-screen.

“Kase?” I asked.

“Lexi?”

She sounded upset. I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. “Barney ran away.”

“Who’s Barney?” I asked, mentally running through the roster of Adrienne’s siblings. Weren’t her brothers in college?

“The dog,” she said, and I exhaled a giant breath. “Can you come help us find him?”

“Can’t Mrs. Streeter help you?”

“No. We think he’s in the woods, and she can’t go there in her chair,” my sister said. “Please? Adrienne’s about to lose it.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll be right over.”

“For real?”

I was taken aback. “Of course, Kasey.”

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

I hung up the phone, wondering why she found it so shocking that I was willing to help her. Wasn’t I always the one who helped her?

As we pulled into the Streeters’ driveway, the girls converged on us. Adrienne was in tears. Kasey hugged herself tightly and looked warily around the dark neighborhood.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“No problem,” I said. There were four girls there: Kasey, Adrienne, a pretty girl I didn’t know, and Lydia, who saw me looking at her and turned away to kick at the loose gravel in the driveway.

What was Lydia doing at a lame slumber party?

To my surprise, my sister had a plan. “I’ll go into the woods with Lexi. Adrienne, go in the car with Carter,” Kasey said. “Tashi and Lydia, go on foot. Call everybody if you see him.”

We all fanned out, carrying flashlights and bags of dog treats. Kasey and I started down the street, shining the flashlight between houses and shrubs.

“What kind of dog is it?”

“A Westie,” she said. “He’s white, luckily.”

Or not-so-luckily. Sure, a white dog was easier for us to see, but that also meant he was easier for coyotes and other predators to see, too. I quickened my pace.

“How’d he get out?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” Kasey exhaled. “Something scared him.”

“Mrs. Streeter must be going crazy,” I said. “Not being able to help.”

“Yeah.” Kasey shined the light under a car.

“Why is she in a wheelchair?”

“It’s a degenerating disease,” Kasey said. “Adrienne has it, too.”

“Degenerative?” I caught a glimpse of something white, but it was a trash bag by someone’s side door.

Kasey fidgeted with the treats. “Alexis, if we find Barney, you should probably get him.”

“Why?” As far as I could recall, the lengthy list of things that scared my sister didn’t include dogs.

She turned the light over in her hands, trying to decide what to say next. “I don’t know if he likes me very much.”

“What we should probably do, if we see him, is call Adrienne and let her come call him.”

“No,” Kasey said. “He won’t go to her, either.”

“But she’s his owner.”

She sighed. “It’s a long story.”

We came to the parking lot by the lake. There was a small log cabin with padlocked bathrooms and a water fountain. We stepped off the paved surface onto the clumpy grass of the picnic area, which led to a small stretch of beach dotted with dilapidated picnic tables and a barbecue grill covered in caution tape.

I scanned the lake. The fountain in the center sputtered irregular streams of water, illuminated by the few floodlights that hadn’t yet burned out.

“There he is! I see him!” Kasey said, pointing down toward the water’s edge.

The beam of the flashlight bounced off a small white dog trotting along the shoreline.

“Here,” Kasey said, handing me the bag of treats. “Call him. Make sure he sees that you have food. He’ll do anything for food.”

“What do I do if he comes to me?” I asked. “Do you have a leash?”

Her face fell.

“I’ll grab his collar,” I said. “Go back to the Streeters’ house and get his leash.”

“Okay,” she said. “And I’ll call Adrienne.”

There wasn’t time to say more. I started slowly toward the shore.

The dog heard me approach and looked up, his ears pricked at attention.

“Baaaaaaarney,” I called, keeping my voice as smooth as possible, “here, boy.”

He glanced at me through suspicious eyes and began to amble away, checking back over his shoulder.

I didn’t want to get too close, for fear that he’d run. So I stopped moving. The dog stood still and watched me.

“Hey, boy,” I said, dropping to my knees and landing in a puddle of wet dirt. Great.

I reached into the bag for a treat.

Barney cocked his head.

“Yummy!” I said, holding it out. “Who wants one?”

I tossed it so it landed a couple of feet in front of him, and he pounced on it, tail wagging.

I tossed another one, and he came closer. Now we were only separated by a few yards. A third treat, and then a fourth, and I decided to go for it—instead of tossing the next one, I held it on the flat of my palm. “Come see what I have. Come on.”

Barney, by now pretty psyched about the goodie-throwing stranger, wagged his tail once and took a curious step toward me, his eyes trained on the bit of food in my hand. I raised it to my nose and took a sniff. It smelled pretty good, actually.

“Mmmm…maybe I’ll eat it,” I said. “Better hurry.”

He came closer, his gaze never leaving the food. I shifted my body so he’d have to come within grabbing distance of my left hand to reach the treat.

Almost there—

There was a loud clattering sound from behind the maintenance building on the far side of the picnic area. Barney’s ears shot straight up.

“No! Stay!” I said, making a grab for his collar. But he scrambled away from my grasp and stopped at the very edge of the tree line.