With that, she finally comes inside, but she sticks next to me like glue as we show her around the living room and the kitchen. Gramps fills a bowl with water and sets it on the floor next to Catniss’s bowls. Dewey takes a bite of Catniss’s cat food and then fills up on fresh water.

The whole time she’s jumping from one spot to the next, sniffing everything, saying, What’s this? And this? Oh, what’s this? That’s new. That’s weird. I like that. I don’t know what that is. So many smells!

I spot Catniss lurking way on top of the kitchen cabinets, hiding behind the big pot that doesn’t fit into the cupboard where we keep the rest of the pots and pans. It’s the one Moms pull out at Halloween and fill with candy for trick-or-treaters because they say it’s like a witch’s cauldron. Catniss is up there watching our every move. It’s probably a good thing that Dewey doesn’t see her yet.

But as soon as I think it, Dewey looks up above the cabinets.

Catniss ducks behind the cauldron. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking right now. I hope she isn’t able to somehow tell Noah there’s been a dog in the house.

Dewey follows her nose all the way upstairs and goes directly to my bedroom. It’s only then that she starts to relax. Her tail wag slows down and she begins sniffing things at a slower pace. I sit down on my bed, and Dewey jumps up next to me.

She sniffs at the pillow and blankets and then looks up at me, her eyes all bright and hopeful. This is where we sleep?

“Well . . . not exactly.” My heart sinks a little, and she can tell something is wrong. Her ears twitch and lie flat against her head as I explain the whole situation—how we have to keep her being here a secret from my moms. She listens to everything, eyes wide and unblinking, paying such close attention, so she doesn’t miss anything.

I don’t sleep here with you?

“No, but we have a special house set up for you with a nice warm bed and toys and food and water and everything you need. It’s your very own Puppy Palace!”

She blinks at me, unimpressed.

I give her a hug to try to cheer her up.

“It’s so much better than where you were before. And besides. It’s only for now. Until I can prove to Moms that I’m responsible, and then, somehow, we’ll figure out how to tell them, and they’ll understand eventually, I promise.”

Only for now, she repeats. Not for forever?

“Not for forever,” I assure her.

We go back downstairs; Dewey’s tail hangs a little lower, her eyes a little less shiny now.