Free Girl's Best Friend by Leslie Margolis

doesn’t like dogs. I’m supposed to keep Kermit away from her whenever she’s at the house, so I don’t think she’s even noticed that he’s missing.”
    I hadn’t seen Ivy this upset since we got grounded for throwing water balloons out her window when we were in third grade. (And to be fair, that had been my idea.)
    “But it’s not your fault,” I said.
    “It kind of is. My parents warned me not to tie up Kermit. And they think I buy too many clothes. So this is the ultimate. I didn’t know what to do until I remembered what you said about dog walking yesterday. My cousin used to walk dogs when he was in law school and he said it was the best job he ever had. Paid well, too. So I figured you had the cash. I mean, obviously you’re not spending money on clothes.” She looked me up and down.
    “It’s amazing how you can ask me for help and be insulting at the very same time.”
    “It’s a gift.” Ivy shrugged. “But whatever. I’m only stating a fact and you know I’ll pay you back. I’m supposed to babysit next Friday and for three Saturday nights in a row. You’ll have the money in no time.”
    Ivy stared at me, desperate. And as much as I wanted to say forget it, I thought of Kermit. One of my favorite dogs in the world, and the one with the saddest puppyhood I’d ever known.
    He’d been found in an abandoned building when he was days old. His mom was gone and his whole litter was alone. Two had died by the time the shelter found them. And once we finally convinced Ivy’s parents that they must—absolutely had to—adopt one of the puppies, Kermit was the only one left. He had black-and-white shaggy fur and spots. The skinniest little body you’ve ever seen—we could see his ribs, even. Huge, fat paws that told us he’d grow up to be enormous. And he did. One time, this kid on the street mistook him for a donkey.
    I couldn’t believe he was gone.
    Despite what Ivy did and despite the girl she’d become, I had to help Kermit. A hundred dollars was a lot of money, but I had it. No way could I refuse.
    Still, reading the note gave me the chills. What kind of person would do something like this? No one I wanted to meet.
    “I don’t think you should go alone,” I found myself saying.
    Ivy’s eyebrows shot up. “But I have to. The note says—”
    “I know what the note says, but think about it. It could be dangerous. What if he or she tries to kidnap you ? Are you sure you can’t tell your parents?”
    She shook her head. “There’s no way.”
    “Well, what about my parents? They’d help, I bet.”
    “No, they’ll just invoke the parent code and call my parents. You can’t say a word.” Ivy’s cold blue eyes bore into me, letting me know she meant business. She spoke carefully, urgently. “I need to get Kermit back and I need to listen to this person’s instructions. So are you going to help me or what?”
    I looked down at the note and then up at Ivy.
    I didn’t answer right away, but I knew not to argue.
    Once Ivy made up her mind, there was no going back.

Chapter 12
    ♦     ♦     ♦
    Some pigeons can fly at speeds of up to a hundred miles an hour. Peregrine falcons move twice as fast. And hummingbirds need to eat every ten minutes.
    Who cares? I asked myself the very same thing, back when my dad made me watch his National Geographic documentary on bird-watching in New York City. But now I’m grateful for these seemingly useless facts because they’ll provide me with the perfect cover.
    On Sunday, I put on my softest jeans, my scuffed blue Pumas, and one of Finn’s old shirts (green, long-sleeved, and slightly baggy). I dumped my schoolbooks out of my backpack and filled it with some dog-walking supplies instead: spare leash, biscuits, water, and bowl. I slipped my camera into my back pocket and slung my dad’s binoculars around my neck to complete the disguise.
    Looking like a girl going after an evil dognapper was too dangerous, which is why I