On the Road to Mr. Mineo's by Barbara O'Connor Page B

and nails and screwdrivers inside.
    â€œI’m not allowed in there,” Gerald called again.
    Stella studied all the things hanging on the walls of the garage.
    A bicycle wheel. A wooden tennis racket with no strings. A fishing net.
    A fishing net?
    â€œHot dang!” Stella called out, stepping over flowerpots and old tires to get to the net.
    â€œWhat?” Gerald called.
    Stella climbed onto a sawdust-covered workbench.
    â€œWhat?” Gerald called again.
    Stella grabbed the net, hopped off the workbench, stepped over the flowerpots and old tires, and made her way to the door.
    â€œWhat?” Gerald hollered, stomping his foot.
    Stella stepped out of the dark garage and into the dappled morning light.
    â€œThis!” she said, thrusting the fishing net toward him.
    Then she wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “I have a good idea.”

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    When Gerald Fell Off the Roof
    Gerald had a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach.
    Dread.
    Whenever Stella got a good idea, something bad almost always happened.
    A dent in the side of his father’s car.
    His grandmother’s embroidered tablecloth left out in the rain.
    A stripe of black paint that stayed on his forehead for a long time.
    And one particularly good idea that eventually involved a fire truck and a crowbar.
    The dread in Gerald’s stomach worked its way down to his feet, making them heavy, like cinderblocks, as he followed Stella across the driveway.
    Crunch
    Crunch
    Crunch
    And even heavier when he climbed the ladder to the garage roof.
    Clomp
    Clomp
    Clomp
    By the time he stepped onto the garage roof, the dread was circling around him like a thick, dark cloud.
    â€œOkay,” Stella said. “Here’s my idea.” She pushed at the springy curls that had fallen across her eyes.
    â€œFirst…” She held up one finger. “We look for that pigeon.”
    â€œNext…” She held up two fingers. “We sit real still so maybe he’ll land on the shed again.”
    â€œAnd then…” She held up three fingers. “We scoop him up with this net.” She waved the net in the air. “Easy peasy,” she added.
    Gerald shrugged. “Okay,” he mumbled.
    And so they started step one of Stella’s plan.
    They looked for the pigeon in the tree branches above the garage.
    They looked.
    And they looked.
    And they looked.
    But they didn’t see him.
    Gerald’s cloud of dread started to lift a little.
    But then Stella whispered three words that brought it back: “There he is!”
    Gerald looked where Stella was pointing into the oak branches overhead. Sure enough, a one-legged pigeon with a shiny green neck was perched above them.
    â€œShhhh.” Stella put her finger to her lips and tiptoed in slow motion over to the lawn chairs. She sat down and patted the seat of the chair beside her. Gerald and his dread sat down.
    Then they began step two of Stella’s plan. They sat real still so maybe the pigeon would land on the shed again.
    They sat.
    And they sat.
    And they sat.
    But the pigeon did not land on the shed again.
    And then, just like all the other times that Stella got a good idea, something bad happened.
    Stella started spewing out more ideas, and the next thing Gerald knew he was searching the pantry for popcorn to toss onto the top of the shed. The pigeon swooped down out of the tree to peck at the popcorn. Stella looked wide-eyed and whispered, “Help me catch him.” So Gerald tiptoed around to the other side of the shed, and then he fell off the roof.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    Why Mr. Mineo Was Aggravated
    On the outskirts of town, in a rusty trailer beside a lake, Arthur Mineo scraped meatloaf off a plate and into a dog bowl.
    A very fat dog with a stub of a tail waddled out from under the kitchen table and gobbled up the meatloaf.
    â€œLet’s go look again, Ernie.” Mr. Mineo held the screen door open for the fat dog, and