Under her hand, Hutch stopped purring and tensed with a little chirp. At the same time, both he and Coop lifted their heads and looked at Amy’s bedroom door with wide eyes. Their tails whipped back and forth, and the hair on their backs spiked up in terror. Amy knew what was coming.

A few seconds later, Rover padded into her doorway.

Hutch broke immediately, crouching down and hissing before scurrying back to the corner where Amy’s bed met the wall. Coop, always the braver of the two, tried to stand his ground, but the low growl in his throat quickly built into an ugly warble, and then he, too, leapt back and wedged himself between the bed and the wall.

Rover, as always, stood there looking totally underwhelmed.

Something about the dog’s demeanor annoyed Amy. She hated to admit it to herself, because she loved all animals, but it frustrated her how silent and calm Rover acted most of the time, especially given how much other animals lost their minds around him. Amy had taken him for a walk the night after they’d gotten back from the vet, and every dog in every house along the way had run barking to the front window. Just last night, Stormy had backed into the dining room corner when Rover showed up, going so far as to hide her face under her paw; her whining had gotten so bad that Dad had to put her outside.

And throughout it all, Rover remained calm. It reminded her of the time she’d been angry at Marguerite for making fun of her new shoes on the bus and had acted chilly and quiet instead of yelling at her. Marguerite had finally taken Amy’s phone out of her hand midway through lunch the next day.

“This is not okay,” Marguerite had said, her little pink face going ham-bright. “Why are you acting like this? It’s mean. If there’s something wrong, just let me know.”

Marguerite’s angry face had fallen at once. “You’re right. I’m so sorry—that wasn’t cool of me. I just didn’t know it was that bad.”

Rover seemed like that—like he was keeping something from them, or was staying too calm when a normal dog would at least bark or whine.

Amy knew that sounded ridiculous—he was a dog, for Pete’s sake; all he wanted was food and a place to pee.

But it was what ran through her mind every time she saw him these days. And now that her dad had given up on trying to find a shelter, and they had officially bought the dog his own kennel and bowl, she was feeling it more and more.

“What?” she asked Rover.

Rover looked back toward the stairs, licked his chops, and gave Amy a soft whuff. Amy checked her iPad for the time, then shook her head at him.