Penelope Crumb by Shawn K. Stout Page A

interested in what I’m saying. “Humph.”
    I pull out the chair beside him and sit down, putting Winston on the table between us. He doesn’t look at me. He just stares at the pile of newspapers the whole time. I don’t know what he might be thinking of, but I’m thinking that Terrible’s alien mind-reading tricks would come in handy right about now. Neither one of us says anything for a long time, and the longer I keep quiet, the harder it is for me to get my mouth to work.
    Finally, I tell myself just to say something. “Do you know who I am?”
    He looks at me then, right at the heart of me, and his eyes tremble a little. He nods.
    “Good,” I say. My mouth is just getting warmed up, so I keep on going. “Did you know this dog?” I point to Winston.
    He mumbles, so low that I can barely hear: something, something, photographer.
    “So you took this picture?”
    He nods.
    “I’m going to get a dog like Winston one day,” I say.
    Grandpa Felix closes his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling. I close my eyes and do the same. Only, I peek at him through eye slits. And just when I get to thinking that he’s gone asleep, his eyes pop open and he says, “Elmer.”
    “Elmer?” It takes me a while to figure out that he’s talking about that dog in the picture. I look at those eyebrows again. “Nope, he’s definitely a Winston.”
    “Let me see that,” he grumbles. I slide the pageto him, and he gives it a close look until he and Winston are almost nose to nose. Then he smiles enough for me to worry that his stone face will crack, like he hadn’t thought about that dog in a long time. “I believe you’re right, Penelope. He does look like a Winston.”
    I stop breathing for a second or two because this is the first time Grandpa Felix says my name and it makes me feel so good, like wiggling my toes in the ocean. I watch him close. I think he must like saying my name, too, because his face gets red, especially around his whiskers. “I like his eyebrows,” I say.
    “Who wouldn’t?” His mouth seems warmed up now, too. “I bet you’ve never seen a dog with eyebrows like that before.”
    “No sir.” I shake my head. “Grandpa Mortimer. Grandpa Felix.”
    “Grandpa Felix,” he says.
    “Grandpa Felix,” I say, smiling. “I didn’t know that dogs even had eyebrows.”
    He jumps a little and shifts forward when I say his name, making me wonder if maybe his toes have gone wiggling like mine. But after a moment, he eases back into his chair and says, “Well, not many do. Not many do.”

17.
    W e make it back to the library just as moms and dads get there to pick up the homeschoolers. As soon as we get inside, I go to the first shelf of books I see and pull one out:
The History of Great Medieval Battles.
I open it in the middle, hold it up to my face, and stare at big words I’ve never seen before and don’t know how to say. “My goodness, this is very interesting.”
    “What are you doing?” Littie says.
    “Pretending like I’ve been here all day and not somewhere else doing something I’m not allowedto be doing,” I whisper. “Do you see your momma anywhere?” I peer over the top of the book and hope we aren’t in for a battle of our own if Momma Maple is already here.
    “I don’t see her,” whispers Littie. “I don’t think she’s here yet.”
    I hand Littie the book and wish her good luck. “Then I better be getting home.”
    Somehow I get home before Mom or Terrible do, thank lucky stars. All this sneaking and snooping and not getting caught makes me feel like I am an official detective now. And I just know that Miss Stunkel would be proud.
    I’m back at Grandpa Felix’s the next day, after I get Littie to call my school and say that not only am I no better, but I’m a whole lot worse.
    I knock hard on Grandpa Felix’s door. His footsteps are heavy and slow. And when he opens the door I say, “I’m back,” and then I pick up my toolbox and go inside before he has a