The Runaway. Alison Hart
I come sleep with you? It’s too quiet in here without Scooter’s snoring.”
Maryellen slid to the far side of the mattress. “And lonely, too.”
The two snuggled against each other, but it still took Maryellen a long time to fall asleep.
…
The next morning, Maryellen didn’t need her mother to wake her up. She jumped out of bed and raced into the kitchen in her pajamas. “Did Scooter come home?”
Her mother was pouring Wheaties into five bowls and dotting them with sliced banana. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I haven’t seen him. Why don’t you check and see if he ever ate his dinner?”
Maryellen opened the back door. Scooter’s bowl still had the kibble in it she’d poured last night. “His bowl is still full of food. Did Carolyn look for him when she got home?”
Mrs. Larkin nodded. “She and Drew went up and down Palmetto Street, calling until one of the neighbors hollered for them to be quiet.”
Mr. Larkin bustled into the kitchen carrying his briefcase and wearing a suit. “Bye kiddos.” He kissed Mrs. Larkin and squeezed Maryellen’s shoulder. “Scooter will be home by dinnertime,” he assured her before leaving for his commute into work. “You know how much he likes to visit the neighbors. He’s probably eating a hamburger at Mr. Johnson’s house right now.”
“Your father’s right. So wake up your brothers and sisters and get dressed for school.”
By the time she reached her bedroom, Maryellen was so glum that she barely noticed what she put on.
“You have two different ankle socks on, Ellie-jelly,” Carolyn pointed out. “And your blouse has a big chocolate stain on it from last night.”
“Who cares,” Maryellen grumbled. “It’s my fault Scooter is gone.”
“Why is it your fault?” Beverly asked, yawning.
“Because I kicked him out of the house yesterday after I tripped over him, and I forgot to feed him on time. He was probably mad, and that’s why he ran off to eat a hamburger at the Johnsons’.”
“Scooter never gets mad, though he does like hamburger,” Carolyn said. “Here’s a clean blouse to put on.”
Tom and Mikey were already eating when the three girls came into the kitchen. “Scootew’s gone!” Mikey cried out in a blubbery voice.
Maryellen slumped into her chair and stared glumly at the brown flakes in her bowl.
“If he’s not home by this afternoon, we’ll look for him,” Mrs. Larkin said, pouring milk into her bowl. “Now eat your cereal before it gets soggy.”
“We’ll all look for him,” Beverly said. “Like the Happy Hollisters.”
Tom stopped chewing. “I want to be Pete.”
“I’ll be Pam,” Beverly said.
“Who are the hoppy Hollistews?” Mikey asked.
“They’re a family of detectives,” Beverly explained. “They solve mysteries. Right, Maryellen?”
Maryellen shrugged her shoulders. Mom had read The Happy Hollisters aloud to her when she was younger, and while the stories weren’t as exciting as the Nancy Drew mysteries she read now, the Hollister kids did remind Maryellen of her own big family. If pretending to be the Happy Hollisters got her brothers and sister to help, she’d go along. Plus, Beverly was right: If Scooter didn’t show up, it would take all of them to find him.
The rain had stopped, so Maryellen decided to ride her bike to school. As she pushed her old two-wheeler from the carport, Davy was just coming out of his house next door.
“I heard everyone calling for Scooter last night,” Davy said. “Did you find him?”
Maryellen shook her head. “Did you see him?”
“No. Do you think he’s lost?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes he visits the neighbors, but he’s never been gone this long before.”
“I’d help you look this afternoon, but I have basketball practice,” said Davy.
Maryellen didn’t want to mention that the Happy Hollisters would be helping her, in case Davy might think it was babyish.
“Did you pick a science report topic yet?” Davy asked as he swung onto his sleek black bike and headed up the sidewalk.
“Not yet.” Maryellen mounted her own bike but could barely keep up, even pumping hard.
Davy circled in the street and rode up beside her. “I’ve decided to research codes, like the Morse code.”
“Since I had so much fun with the science contest, I was thinking maybe I could do something with rockets.” Maryellen sighed. “Right now, though, I don’t feel much like lifting off. All I can think of is Scooter wandering around, lost and hungry.”
Scooter was on Maryellen’s mind all through the school day. During mental math, Miss Dimotsis asked her to solve 132 divided by 12. “Scooter!” popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Then in English class, Mr. Olivier asked her to summarize the plot of The Wheel on the School, a book about Dutch children who try to get storks to return to their fishing village.
“It’s about a poor dog lost in Holland,” Maryellen announced instead, flushing when she realized her mistake.
After class, her good friend Karen King wrinkled her freckled nose and pressed her palm on Maryellen’s forehead. “I’m checking to see if you have a fever. I think you caught some strange disease that makes you say silly things.”
Just then her other two best friends, Karen Stohlman and Angela Terlizzi, hurried over. Maryellen told them all about Scooter.
“Oh, that’s terrible!” Karen Stohlman said. Karen was dressed in a brand-new outfit—a lavender circle skirt that whooshed as she walked. Maryellen sometimes found it hard not to feel envious, but today she was only thinking about Scooter.
“I would cry buckets if Amerigo ran off,” Angela said. Maryellen’s newest friend was from Italy. She wore her long black hair in braids and spoke with a slight accent that Maryellen loved to hear.
“If your family doesn’t find him this afternoon, you can count on us to help,” Karen King said.
Maryellen thanked them, but inside she told herself she wouldn’t need their help because when she got home, Scooter would be waiting. Even if he was muddy from last night’s rain, she would give him a giant hug, and she would never shoo him from the house again.
chapter 3
Follow That Truck!
“SCOOTER!” MARYELLEN CALLED.
“Scootew!” Mikey echoed.
The two were trudging up one side of Palmetto Street while Mrs. Larkin, Tom, and Beverly walked up the other. Scooter had not come home. They’d double-checked with Miss Nancy and Mr. Johnson, neither of whom had seen the dog, and now everyone was really worried.
Holding Mikey’s hand, Maryellen hurried up the sidewalk to a house that looked just like hers except it had pastel blue shutters instead of green. A tiger cat sat on the stoop, licking its paw. “Hi, Stripey,” Maryellen said as she rang the doorbell. The Farrs had two kids younger than Mikey, and sometimes Carolyn babysat for them.
Mrs. Farr opened the door, a baby on her hip.
“Have you seen Scooter, our dachshund?” Maryellen asked, showing Mrs. Farr a black-and-white photo of Scooter that her dad had taken on their vacation the past summer. “He’s been missing since yesterday.”
“He’s fat and bwown. Like a hot dog,”