Girl's Best Friend by Leslie Margolis Page A

out with you anymore!”
    “But—” I didn’t finish my sentence. For one thing, I didn’t know how to. But more importantly, Ivy had run away.
    I chased her. Which wasn’t easy because my binoculars bounced up and down against my chest and my backpack shifted with each step. I tried holding the binoculars with one hand, but that made running harder.
    And it turned out I was wrong about the boots. They didn’t slow Ivy down at all. I moved as fast as I could, but she was faster, darting away from the dog beach, zipping past the baseball fields, and tearing across the Long Meadow.
    People flew kites, picnicked in the last of the sunny weather, tossed Frisbees. No one looked twice as Ivy tore by—determined, a girl on a mission. But where was she going?
    I soon found out.
    Suddenly she ran into the middle of one of the soccer games on the Great Lawn. A bunch of guys, half in red shirts and half in blue shirts, were playing. They looked about our age, maybe a bit older, but I didn’t recognize any of them, which meant they probably went to one of the private schools nearby.
    I figured it was an accident, busting up their game, but what Ivy did next was completely deliberate.
    Deliberate and shocking.
    Ivy stole the game ball. Kicked it away, then picked it up and held it over her head.
    The guys who were chasing the ball stopped short. They looked at her and then at one another and then back at her.
    A short guy with blond hair and braces said, “Huh?”
    Another player asked, “What’s going on?”
    Soon their confusion melted into anger.
    Obviously they thought this girl was disturbed, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. I was starting to wonder the same thing.
    “Um, can you give that back?” asked another guy.
    Ivy shook her head so hard her ponytail came loose. “Forget it,” she yelled, hugging the ball tight against her chest in an iron death grip. “I’m not letting go until you tell me where Kermit is.”

Chapter 13
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    All the soccer players shifted back to their original state—bewilderment. And they weren’t the only ones.
    “She’s asking for Kermit?” one asked.
    “He’s my dog.” Ivy sniffed. “But you know that.”
    “I thought Kermit was a frog,” another guy said. (The only one in shorts rather than sweatpants.)
    “Dude, she’s not talking about the Muppet,” said a tall, spiky-haired one.
    “Obviously,” Ivy grumbled.
    The players looked at each other. Some concerned, some annoyed. All completely lost.
    “Um, Ivy?” I asked, taking a step toward her.
    She whipped around and shot me a look of death. “Don’t even try and speak to me now, Maggie.”
    I froze, scared to move closer.
    A few of the guys huddled together and whispered for a minute or so. Then the one with braces headed toward Ivy.
    “You’re the girl from last Saturday? With the big dog?” He held out his hands, a pantomime of Kermit’s girth.
    “Yes,” snapped Ivy. “Obviously I’m that girl. So stop acting all innocent and tell me where Kermit is.”
    “You think we took him?” The guy seemed thoroughly—and legitimately—confused.
    Ivy blinked and loosened her grip on the soccer ball ever so slightly. “Of course you took him.”
    “Um, no.” He shook his head.
    I didn’t know what Ivy was doing but one thing was clear: these guys didn’t, either. She seemed so convinced, but my gut told me that none of them stole her dog.
    And I have a pretty smart gut. I think that’s how I’m always able to find Isabel’s missing stuff. I just wished it could have told me who took Kermit. And where we could find him. And how to talk to Milo. And why he acted so weird in the park the other day. But I suppose that’s asking too much. After all, every gut has its limits.
    “Seriously, Ivy. These guys don’t know what you’re talking about.” I spoke firmly but gently, knowing the subject was sensitive.
    And the longer Ivy stood there, the more the truth seemed to sink