Free Bird Lake Moon by Kevin Henkes Page A

would have changed his name,” she told Mitch. “I would have called him Kernel. With a K, as in popcorn. Not Colonel with a C, as in the army or navy or whatever. Cute, don’t you think?”
    Mitch shrugged.
    â€œMy parents won’t let me have a dog, and it’s all I want. You are so lucky.”
    If you only knew, thought Mitch. “I’ve got to go,” he said. He turned to leave.
    â€œYou are so lucky,” she repeated loudly as he walked away.
    Her words were so ironic they stung, like stones hurled at his back.
    It took some getting used to—riding a bike and holding on to a dog at the same time—but Mitch found a rhythm and Jasper loped along easily. If he slowed down, all Mitch needed to do was to make a clicking sound and say, “Come on, Jasper,” and Jasper picked up speed.
    Mitch had wanted to get away from the girl as fast as he could, but he’d taken a moment to check Jasper’s tags before he’d mounted the bike. The intruders lived in Madison. On a street Mitch didn’t know.
    He hoped that the intruders were still far out on the lake and that he could put Jasper back where he’d found him. No questions asked. What he’d do if this weren’t the case, he could barely consider. Please, please, please, don’t be home, he mouthed silently.
    Other concerns, scant in comparison, but still concerns: Jasper was wet, had burrs and shredded leaves stuck all over him, and smelled funny, as if he’d gotten into something nasty like a dead fish or someone’s garbage.
    What would the intruders think? Each problem solved just led to another unsolved one, thought Mitch.
    As he neared his grandparents’ and the intruders’ houses, he felt something—flickers of fear. But something else, too—one tiny glimmer of hope, hope that everything would turn out all right.
    Suddenly Jasper charged forward with a burst of energy. Mitch’s arm jerked; he was pulled like a rag doll. He thought that a stray cat or a squirrel must be ahead, hidden by bushes or behind a tree or lying low in the ditch at the side of the road. “Whoa, Jasper. Take it easy,” he said.
    And then Mitch heard whistling. And one mournful “Jasper!” followed by quiet.
    Mitch didn’t know what to do. Everything was happening too fast. Turning around or taking a break to think it all through was not an option, seeing as Jasper was not to be stopped. Unhooking Jasper or letting go of the leash didn’t seem right. Mitch was guilty enough already. Like a twig caught in a river current, Mitch felt he was being carried along, with no control whatsoever over where he was going, with no idea exactly to what he was being taken.
    The dog led the boy. On a short, clear, speedy path to some unknown outcome. Up one last stretch of road to the intruders’ house, and then down their driveway into their yard, right to the intruders, standing in a tight knot with Papa Carl.
    The sight of his grandfather was disorienting to Mitch. His heart rose up, then seized. What was going on?
    Now he let go of the leash.
    What he would remember most about that moment was a feeling of pure, intense relief. What he wouldn’t remember was who spoke first or what he or she said.
    When Mitch began his explanation, there were remnants of fear in his voice, and his voice was modest, but it soon changed. It became almost giddy. “I was out riding my grandpa’s bike and I saw this dog sort of running loose,” he told them. “I recognized him from seeing him in your yard. So I, you know, thought I should bring him home to you.”
    Nothing he’d said yet was an outright lie, although it seemed to part of him that lying was precisely what he was doing.
    â€œHe let me get close enough to see that the name on his tag was Jasper, and so I just called him and he came with me.” He paused briefly, then blurted out, “And he’s fast ! I