Macy’s sobo is cooler than Macy thinks.

“It’s mochi. Try,” she says, waving her hand at the food.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Gramps says first, selecting one of the sweets. “Please, sit down. The girls were just playing with, uh . . .”

“Not Dewey,” she finishes.

“Yum,” Gramps mumbles into his bite, then asks her, “What did you call these again, moch-as?”

“Mochi,” I correct.

“Mochi,” Gramps repeats, then looks at Dewey. “Mochi?”

Dewey turns her head and barks.

“We’ll keep thinking on names,” Gramps says.

“Go play,” Macy’s grandma tells her. “But homework later, yes?”

“Yes,” Macy agrees.

We take that as our cue to go out into the yard, leaving Gramps and Sobo to talk.

Not-Dewey’s big foxtail waves back and forth, and she seems so happy, I never would have guessed she’d ever been unhappy. In this moment, surrounded by laughter and the scent of leaves and the crisp coldness in our breath, sugary sweetness on my tongue, I can’t believe I had been so unhappy not too long ago either.

Chapter 27

SOME RULES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN

During school on Wednesday, it starts to rain. The sheets of water crash down against the windows so loud it’s hard for everyone to concentrate today, not just me.

I worry about Dewey being all alone, especially after everything she showed me.

After school, I accidentally leave my umbrella on the bus, so Macy shares hers with me. We run as fast as we can, tromping through puddles, and end up completely soaked by the time we make it to my house, even with the umbrella. We take our shoes off at the door because they are filled with pools of rainwater.

Gramps is standing at the living room windows looking out at the Puppy Palace. When he sees how soaked we are, he says, “Gee, did you gals swim here or what?”

“Practically!” I say. “How’s Dewey doing with this rain?”

Gramps gets us towels to set all of our wet things on. “I checked on her about an hour ago, and she was all right. A little nervous. But not terrible.”

I clasp my hands together, my hair dripping onto my shoulders. “Gramps, just this once, do you think we could bring her inside—please?” I plead.

Gramps looks back and forth between Macy and me. Finally he answers, “I suppose some rules are meant to be broken. But we have to make sure she’s out of here well before your moms get home.”

Gramps starts getting into his raincoat and rubber boots, while Macy and I race upstairs and throw on whatever mismatched clothes I see first in my closet. I’m in pajama pants and an ugly knitted holiday sweater, and Macy’s in sweatpants and my favorite Supergirl hoodie.