Free The Mighty Quinn by Robyn Parnell Page A

to a corner of the quilt where a pink patch of cloth covered a segment where two rings intersected. “Mom made this patch, to fix the part Peppy chewed up.”
    â€œThe Hamster Patch Quilt,” Neally murmured. She ran her hand over the small pink patch. “It’s even cooler this way than if it was whole and perfect, because now there’s a story about it.”
    â€œI know.” Quinn grinned so hard his face ached. “I love that story.”
    â€œIt’s a fantabulous quilt,” Neally said. “It’s a quilt ... for all infinity.”
    Quinn’s eyes widened.
    â€œInfinity is a great word.” Neally smiled saucily. “But if your grandma made the quilt for you, why is it in Mickey’s room?”
    â€œGrandma made quilts for all her grandkids, but she died before Mickey was born.”
    â€œSo you gave your quilt to Mickey? That was nice of you.”
    â€œWell, it’s pink.”
    â€œWell, duh. Do you like it?”
    â€œSure. It’s a great quilt.”
    â€œIt’s just a color, you know,” Neally said. “I don’t care for pink, either—I’m more into dark colors, like green and purple. But it’s not like colors can zap your chromosomes. I don’t understand why some boys act like they’re afraid of pink.”
    â€œI’m not afraid of pink. If I was, I’d be afraid of Alice’s eyes.” Quinn pointed at the rat cage.
    â€œYes!” Neally reached for the cage door. “I can hold her, right?”
    â€œSure. She won’t bite.”
    â€œMy mom hates rats,” Neally said gleefully. “She says their tails look like freeze-dried snakes. Hey Alice, your whiskers tickle my hands!” Alice crawled up Neally’s arm and perched on her shoulder. “Yin and Yang would really go for her. For a midnight snack, I mean. I’m sorry my dad wouldn’t let me wake them when we were at my place. Afternoon is their nap time.”
    â€œThat’s okay. They were awesome just to look at.” Quinn let Alice sniff his finger. “Siamese are the best cats.”
    â€œThey’re not pure Siamese, which is a good thing, because they don’t have those creepy meows that sound like someone’s pinching a howler monkey,” Neally said. “Mom says they’ve got just enough Siamese in them to make them too smart for their own good. They can open drawers, and even the front door screen. Sometimes Yin drags the newspaper to the back porch in the morning, and then Yang shreds it.”
    â€œIf you want a pet to fetch the paper, you need a dog.” Quinn put Alice back in her cage.
    â€œWho wants to teach anything to fetch?” Neally asked.
    Quinn turned his attention to the hamster cage. “I wish we had a dog. I’d like a big one, an Irish setter or an Alaskan husky, not a little yippy dog.” He stuck his finger through the bars and spun the wheel. “Have you ever had a dog?”
    â€œWe had a chocolate Lab puppy. He was cute, but dumb as a box of crayons. He’d get loose and run out into the street and chase passing cars.” The muscles in Neally’s face curved as if she was telling a joke, but her voice was small and serious. “Then, one day, he caught one.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI think Dad would like for us to have another dog. He loves all kinds of animals. But Mom doesn’t care for dogs. They grovel, you know.”
    â€œGrovel?”
    â€œIt’s like begging. Dogs do whatever you want, because they want you to be nice to them. It’s so ... desperate . Kind of like Tay. Mom says she doesn’t respect people who grovel, so why would she want that in an animal? Hey, is Mickey outside with your mom?”
    â€œProbably.” Quinn looked out the window, and indeed, Mickey and his mother were weeding the ground by the azalea plants. “What do you mean, ‘like Tay?’ About the groveling