Dad rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Patricia. You really backed me up here.”

“I want to save the doggy,” said Katie, scratching the shepherd’s face. “Please, Daddy. Please.”

Amy folded her arms and stared at her father, waiting. Saying no to Amy was one thing, but once Katie got involved, he knew it was a losing battle. Dad stared back, flared his nostrils, and finally threw his arms up. “Fine. Give me a second.”

Amy knelt down beside the shepherd and scratched his neck. The dog panted and looked from Katie to Amy with his tongue lolling out, regarding them both. What a good dog, thought Amy. Strong, too, and brave. He hadn’t even yelped when she’d pulled some of his fur out. That was strange—maybe he’d had obedience training in his past, or had gotten tape on his face before. Or maybe he was just happy that someone like her had come along and saved him.

“Good boy, Rover,” Katie said with a laugh.

Amy scowled—typical Katie, naming the dog before Amy even had a chance. “Oh,” Amy said, trying to sound like she was joking, but letting her annoyance slip through, “the rest of us don’t get any say in his name?”

Katie looked perplexed, like she didn’t know where the name had come from. “I dunno,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t you think he looks like a Rover? We should call him that. Isn’t that right, Rover?”

Amy wanted to argue—Katie was the baby, so she always got her way, which really wasn’t fair—but something about the name felt right to her. The shepherd looked noble, obedient, like man’s best friend. A classic dog name suited him.

“Good boy, Rover,” said Amy. Rover barked and panted at her.

If Amy hadn’t known any better, she would have said the dog was smiling.

Chapter 2: Rover

They pulled over at a rest stop a few miles down the road, a concrete turnaround with a gas station and a Dairy Queen separated by a huge parking lot and a bank of picnic tables. Five or six other families sat eating ice cream and burgers. They all looked pretty tough to Amy, the fathers thickset and covered with stubble, wearing sleeveless shirts that showed tattoos, the moms never smiling, and snapping at their kids in sharp voices.

One girl about Amy’s age, thin and mean-eyed, glared at her as she passed. Without thinking, Amy put her iPad in the pocket on the back of Mom’s seat. Mom felt the movement, glanced back, and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Nobody’s going to bother you here, Amy,” said Mom.

“I know,” said Amy, rolling her eyes.

“Just because someone’s a stranger doesn’t mean they’re bad,” Mom went on. “Good and bad are just constructs people use.”