Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

the same birthday. Actually, I was having trouble believing we were born on the same day, too, but when I said so in the car, Hudson told me, “It's not as strange a coincidence as you might think. It takes only twenty-three people in a room to create a fifty-fifty chance of two sharing the same birthday.”
    “No way!” I said.
    “But it's true,” he said. “And considering the number of people having brunch there today, plus the fact that a lot of people go to the Santa Martina Inn to celebrate special occasions, I'm surprised there weren't more.”
    “I wouldn't care about sharing my birthday with anyone else … but Heather?”
    He shook his head. “I'll admit, that's one unlucky coincidence.”
    When we got to the Highrise we all thanked him high and low for taking us out, and he was real polite to everyone, but as my mom and Grams went up the walkway to the front door, he pulled me aside and said, “I am sorry, Sammy. I thought the Santa Martina Inn would be a special treat. But I'm afraid it—”
    “Hudson, no! It was great. And I'm sorry I got so spastic about Heather.” I toed the ground. “And so riled about my mother…”
    “Your mother is trying to be nice, Sammy.”
    “I know. I know.” I looked up at him. “And you should have seen me last night. I was so mature you'd have been puffing with pride.”
    “It felt good, didn't it?”
    “Yeah,” I said, “but it's hard work.”
    He laughed and said, “So true,” then told me to come visit him sometime soon.
    “Will do!” I said, and headed around the building to the fire escape.
    Now, by the time I got to the fifth-floor landing, I'd actually convinced myself that even though she's lied to me and deceived me and hidden things from me, I
could
be nice to my mother. For my own sake, if not for hers. Only then, just as I'm opening the fire-escape door, I hear her
scream
, and Grams shout, “Lana, close the door!” And suddenly Dorito is streaking my way.
    At first I thought he was racing toward me because he was happy to see me. But then I see that he's got another mouse in his mouth. And before I can stop him, he shoots between my legs and ditches it out the door.
    “Dorito!” I shout, but he doesn't stop. He charges down the fire escape like he's done it all his life. And I'm racing after him shouting, “Dorito, no! Dorito!” but he ignores me. And then I hear Grams above me crying, “Oh no! There he goes!”
    I look out across the lawn and there's Dorito, streaking toward Broadway. “No …no …no …,” I whimper. “Dorito, please … not the street!”
    But he goes straight for the street. Right into the street. And even though I don't want to watch, I do. Tires squeal, horns honk, Dorito zigzags, and I can almost not believe it—he makes it to the other side. Then, cool as can be, he starts strutting up the sidewalk toward Wesler Street.
    I fly down the rest of the stairs and charge after him. And by the time I get across the street, Holly's in front of the Pup Parlor, asking, “What's going on?”
    “Dorito! He got away!”
    She runs with me up to Wesler, saying, “I knew it had to be something big—you making a scene like that on the fire escape.” She eyes me. “In a pink sweater.”
    “You could hear me? Up in your apartment?”
    “Oh yeah,” she says, then adds, “Well, the window was open.”
    “Maaaan.”
    “Forget it. No one around here's going to think about it. Or care.” Then she says, “I take it wishing you a happy birthday would be sorta stupid?”
    “Don't remind me!” I almost told her about Heather, but I decided to save it. I had to concentrate on finding Dorito.
    When we got to the corner of Broadway and Wesler, we looked around, then hung a left, even though Dorito was nowhere in sight.
    “How'd he get out?” Holly asked.
    “We were coming home from brunch, and I think my mother freaked out when she saw he had a mouse.” I checked down an alley. “And then he charged past me as I was