Free Bird Lake Moon by Kevin Henkes

kaleidoscopic tangle of footprints and pawprints and offered no real help. Then, while they figured out what to do next, they stared at the base of the maple tree as if it would reveal something, some hidden clue.
    â€œEmmy,” said Spencer’s father, “why don’t you and Lolly stay here. Spencer and I will drive around. See what happens.”
    She nodded. “He’ll come back. I know he will.”
    In desperation, Spencer screamed Jasper’s name at the top of his lungs once more.
    â€œEveryone okay?” An old man had passed through the screen of lilacs and was crossing the yard. “Someone lost?”
    He walked with a slightly lopsided stride, but quickly. His skin—badly pocked and deeply wrinkled—was the color of wheat bread. He was thin, not too tall.
    Spencer peered behind him, expecting Jasper to be in tow. The man was alone.
    Introductions were made and explanations were given. The man lived next door, through the lilacs, in the neat and orderly mint green house. His name was Carl. Mr. Burden.
    â€œMy grandson, Mitch, is staying with us,” said Mr. Burden. “He’s around here somewhere. Maybe he could help look for your dog.”
    Spencer heard something or someone else approaching from the driveway.
    â€œIt’s my grandson,” said Mr. Burden.
    â€œIt’s my dog!” said Spencer.
    The world had been out of order, and now, for the moment, it was right again.

7 • MITCH
    He took his grandfather’s rarely used bicycle from the garage—with its nearly flat tires and loose, squeaky seat—and rode off without a real plan. He pedaled hard and fast in the direction that Jasper had gone. He yelled Jasper’s name a few times but became too self-conscious and decided to search silently.
    He wished that he could simply ride and ride and ride and not talk to another person or need anything or anyone again. Ever. Ride and ride and ride until despair had lost its hold.
    Not long into his search, he heard a dog barking. He followed the sound, swerving sharply onto a narrow, winding dirt road that led to the lake. His front tire caught in a rut and he fell, scraping his leg on a rock and getting dirt in his mouth. But he lost little time, rising quickly and running down the road, gripping the handlebars with a vengeance, pulling the bicycle along with him as if he and the bike were one.
    In a clearing, he saw a girl perched atop an overturned rowboat. A dog was sitting tall beside her.
    Jasper! he thought. He threw down the bicycle and approached the girl warily.
    â€œHe’s mine,” said Mitch, tipping his head at the dog. It surprised him how easily the lie had slid off his tongue.
    â€œProve it,” said the girl.
    A panicky feeling melted his knees, “Jasper. Come, Jasper,” he said, bending slightly and slapping his thighs the way he remembered the intruder son doing.
    Mitch’s gentle command brought the dog from the girl to him in a flash. He coiled the long leash and held it so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palm. He would not let go. “Stay?” he whispered tentatively.
    The girl jumped off the rowboat. She frowned at Mitch, then placed her hands on her hips and shot him an exaggerated, pouty expression. “Okay,” she said, walking toward him. “You win. He’s obviously yours.”
    â€œSorry.” He noticed that her eyes were shiny with tears.
    â€œI even thought of throwing his tags into the lake,” she confessed. “Never to be seen again.”
    Mitch hadn’t read Jasper’s tags. If the girl had tested him on Jasper’s address, he would have failed. He would have had to come up with a story of some sort quickly.
    â€œCan I pet him one more time?” asked the girl.
    â€œYeah. Sure.”
    She came forward and lowered her head to the height of Jasper’s and let him cover her face with licks. She scratched him behind his ears. “I