Girl's Best Friend by Leslie Margolis Read Free Book Online Page A

answered him honestly. “No, I walk all sorts. A Maltese, an Irish wolfhound … and um, well, actually those are my only three clients right now.”
    Milo’s mouth twisted up in a way that told me he had been kidding. So now he probably thought I had no sense of humor.
    “He’s cute,” he said, smiling down at Milo.
    “Thanks,” I said. “I mean, he’s not mine or anything. I just walk him. But he’s my favorite. One of my favorites, anyway. I actually like all the dogs I walk.” Just then the image of a snarling Bean dressed in a sparkly sequined sweater-vest popped into my head. “Well, most anyway. Who’s yours?”
    Milo didn’t answer me. Not right away. Instead he looked around, like he was afraid someone would see us together.
    “Know what?” he asked, taking a step back and tugging lightly on the leash. “I forgot but I’m really late for this, um, thing. So I’ll see you later.”
    He turned around and took off without another word. Running so fast, his little dog could barely keep up.

Chapter 9
    ♦     ♦     ♦
    An hour later I found Finn in our room, kicking back on his bed and working on his homework.
    Moby’s new album streamed from his laptop.
    “Did you buy this?” I asked.
    “Red burned me a copy,” he replied.
    “Nice.”
    Red’s way into indie bands and he keeps us up-to-date on new music, which is cool, for the most part. But he can be a music snob sometimes, and I’m still a little annoyed with him for making fun of my Taylor Swift CD last month. He didn’t say much—just held it up with two fingers, like it was a piece of moldy cheese, and asked, “What’s this?” in a super-snooty tone.
    And Finn let out a laugh and said, “Maggie’s.” Like he couldn’t believe it, either, which so wasn’t fair because I’ve caught him humming along to her music on more than one occasion. I could’ve said so but didn’t because I’m nice like that.
    I knelt down in front of our fireplace, where Finn and I keep our most valuable stuff. The fireplace doesn’t work—it’s only decorative (something we discovered a few years ago when we tried making s’mores in it). But that just makes it an excellent hiding place. Pretty, too. It’s cast iron and gray and the door has a tin plate with a cool pattern stamped into it—little suns inside square boxes.
    The facade is painted shut, or at least it looks that way. But if you know how to turn the handle—with a slight wiggle and some force, but not too much, while pressing down on the upper left-hand corner—the door swings open in a snap, revealing a small space that’s perfect for storing Finn’s first edition comic books and my cigar box, which has not actually contained cigars in ages.
    The box was a gift from Ivy—from years ago, obviously. And it’s where I keep everything I need for my dog-walking business:
    Three sets of keys, color-coded and linked to a carabiner (I don’t put names or addresses on the keys because if they ever got lost or stolen, I’d have a big problem.)
    Spare leash
    Plastic bags
    Doggie Deets stationery
    Pen
    Spare pen
    Treats
    Portable bowl
    And most important, my dog-walking cash
    I unloaded my backpack, added this week’s earnings to the already sizable pile, and secured the money with a red rubber band.
    “I made flash cards for the new Spanish vocab. Want to quiz each other?”
    Finn offering to study with me on a Friday night? Bizarro! Also weird—Finn usually waits for me to make flash cards. But this was no random act of kindness. Obviously, my brother had a major case of guilt about ruining my birthday. And I wasn’t about to let him do me any favors just so he could feel better about himself.
    “No thanks,” I said coldly. “I’d rather make my own.”
    “So you’re still mad,” said Finn. “It’s not my fault. Eve put me on the spot and you’d have done the same thing.”
    I glared at him.
    “Well, maybe not with Eve. I get that. But if it were anyone