Vanishing Acts Read Online Free Page A

a cute, sweet, mellow puggle.
    Ironically, we ran right into boy-Milo as soon as we got outside.
    My friend Milo is also cute, sweet, and mellow, just like his canine namesake. He’s also tall and thin and quiet, with perfectly floppy brown hair. I used to admire Milo from afar, and now I admire him from a-near, because we hang out all the time.
    I guess one could still say I have a secret crush on him. Except now Finn and Lucy and Sonya and Beatrix know about my feelings, so it’s not exactly a secret. Also, Milo kind of knows, too. I think. But that’s okay, because I have this sneaking suspicion that he’s got a not-so-secret crush on me as well.
    At least he acts that way. He smiles at me whenever I see him. And he’s often hanging around, waiting for me to invite him places. Like right now. I know for a fact that Milo meets his chess tutor after school on Tuesdays, all the way on the other side of the neighborhood. Yet here he was, right in front of the building where two of my clients live. Just like he is almost every afternoon.
    Not in a stalker way. More like an I’m-your-boyfriend-and-we-had-plans-to-meet-up way. Even though we never officially talked about it (the meeting up or the boyfriend thing).
    â€œHey,” he said, pretending to be surprised. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œWorking.” I pointed to the puggle as if Milo hadn’t met him ten times before. “You remember Milo the dog, right?”
    â€œThis is where he lives?” asked Milo, falling in step with me. “I keep forgetting.”
    Milo is a good guy, but a bad liar. Not that I’d call him on it. “What are you up to?” I asked instead.
    Milo shrugged. “Not much. Hanging out. I had chess today. And then my grandma needed something from the pharmacy around the corner. She doesn’t like the one by our apartment, so I always have to walk up here. But her prescription wasn’t ready, so I was just—”
    I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. Milo’s so cute when he goes on and on about why he happened to be standing here—like, he makes so many elaborate and complicated excuses, it’s obvious they’re fake. Unless his grandma needs a new prescription every single day, which I suppose is possible, but highly unlikely. Today I cut him off before he got
too
carried away.
    â€œWant to come to the park with me? Charlotte Ginsburg’s dog got egged this morning and I’m on the case.”
    â€œHer dog got egged?” asked Milo.
    â€œYup,” I said. “And it’s worse than that. Mister Fru Fru isn’t the only victim.”
    â€œCharlotte’s dog’s name is ‘Mister Fru Fru’?” asked Milo.
    â€œI know,” I replied. “Bean just narrowly escaped an egg attack this morning.”
    â€œWho’d egg such a tiny, defenseless little dog?” Milo asked. Then, after thinking about it for a minute, he added, “Do you think it could be someone she’s tried to attack?”
    â€œDon’t know,” I replied. “But I don’t think so. Yes, Bean’s got some personality issues, but Mister Fru Fru is a sweetheart.”
    â€œYou know him?” asked Milo.
    â€œNope. But that’s what Charlotte’s friends tell me.”
    Milo smiled at me. “You did a background check on a dog?”
    I pulled my notebook from my backpack and flipped to the page on Mister Fru Fru. “Not just any dog,” I replied. “A forty-seven-pound black Standard Poodle sporting a royal blue collar and a matching leash.”
    â€œImpressive,” said Milo.
    â€œI believe in being thorough.” I put my notebook away and readjusted my backpack. “Anyway, apparently there’ve been a bunch of egg attacks this weekend.”
    â€œLike, how many?”
    â€œI’m not sure. That’s why we need to investigate.”
    Yes, I said “we,” as in