He nods and says, “BRH.”

“What’s that?”

“Be. Right. Here. See, I’m still young and hip.”

“I know that, Gramps.”

Back in my room I look at the Dewey drawing hanging on my wall, with its four tacks holding it in place. I set the freshly printed poster on my desk. And then I take a new tack from the little container on my desk and poke a tiny hole in all four corners of the poster. If I’m going to convince Moms, it has to look real.

I come downstairs before dinner; Mom and Mama are in the kitchen talking while they cook. I don’t even bother asking if we’re having breakfast for dinner. I can barely remember what our special French toast even tastes like, but now is not the time to mention that.

“Hi, sweetness,” Mama says when she notices me standing there.

“Hi, Moms.”

Mom turns around and asks, “How was school?”

“Meh,” I say with a shrug.

“Meh?” she repeats. “Yeah, my day was kind of meh too.”

“But”—I clear my throat, which has suddenly turned dry as dust, my pulse drumming in my ears—“look what I found on the way home from school, Mom!” I hold out the poster with the four pinholes in the corners and the wrinkles and creases I made by putting it in and pulling it out of my backpack over and over again, and hope that no one notices the way my hands are shaking—like they do whenever I try to lie about something.

Mom holds the paper up in front of her face, so I can’t see what kind of an expression she’s making. “Hmm,” is all she says. I place my hand over my chest, feeling my heart pounding under my fingertips. Does she believe the poster is real?

Am I caught? Should I just confess and get it over with?

Mama comes to look at the poster too. “Where’d you find this, honey?”

“It was on a tree—or a—a post, a light pole, I mean. Near the bus stop.” I fumble. I hadn’t thought of the answer to that question. “It’s her, isn’t it? The dog from the shelter?” I ask, even though I already know it is (with a few minor touch-ups).

“Hmm,” Mom mutters again. “It certainly does look like her.”

Noah bounds into the room and leans over the counter, squinting at the poster upside down, and says, “That is one weird-looking dog.”

“She’s a beautiful, unique-looking dog.”

“She is,” Mama agrees. “Very unique.”

“What are we looking at?” Gramps says as he comes into the room.

“Sadie found a lost-dog poster today,” Mama answers.