upcoming chess tournament, or stressed out about school, or fighting with his grandma. It couldâve been a million things. By the time I went to sleep, Iâd convinced myself it wasnât about me. I mustâve misinterpreted his silence. Maybe he really was busy all weekend. I had bigger things to worry about: a report on Cindy Singer and an egger to track down.
But when I got to science the next day and said hi to Milo, he didnât respond. At first I figured he hadnât heard. He wasnât listening to music, but he was bent over a book. Some science fiction novel, I guessed, based on the cover. Milo reads them all the time.
âGood book?â I asked, raising my voice.
âHuh?â He turned around. âOh, hey,â he said.
âIâve been thinking about Mister Fru Fruâs eggerand Iâm wondering if he or she could be a cat owner. Like, maybe someone really upset with how Park Slope is overrun with dogs?â
I was half joking. Really, I just wanted to have a conversation, make things normal again. But Milo didnât even smile.
Chapter 13
I took Preston on an extra-long walk after school that day because walking helps me think, and I had a lot of thinking to do.
Maybe Milo was mad because Lucy and I had laughed at his beautifying products comment. So should I apologize? What if that wasnât it? And even if it wasâwhat if bringing it up now, a day later, made everything even worse? And how could I waste so much time worrying about it when I had a dog-egger to catch?
Unless Finn was right and Milo did like me and now Iâd blown our entire relationship before we even had a chance to have one.
Wandering around the park did not bring any clarity to the situation.
I decided to swing by the set of
Vanished
. Yes, Jones had banned me, but Seth and I were friends. Okay,maybe not friends, but we were certainly friendly, and heâd told me to stop by.
Rounding the corner from Prospect Park West onto Second Street, I expected to see the crazy winter wonderland Iâd encountered on Wednesday. But Zander and the rest of the crew mustâve been working overtime, because today the street looked like a genuine crime scene.
Each of the six trailers was cordoned off with yellow police tape that read CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS in bold black letters. A bunch of men and women in New York Police Department uniforms wandered around.
They looked so serious, and had authentic-looking caps and everything. But according to Beatrix and Sonya,
Vanished
took place in a universe overrun by teenagers and zombies and giant rats. So why the fake cops? Were they supposed to be teenage cops? These ones seemed too old. Maybe they were zombie cops? They werenât particularly pale, and everyone knows that if the walking dead are one thing, itâs pale. The cameras werenât rolling, but some of them talked into walkie-talkies. Others marched around like they meant business. In other words, they looked like real, live cops. And I had this funny feeling, like something major had gone down.
I looked for my friends, thinking maybe they could tell me why the police were there. But before I found them, I noticed a familiar face.
It was one of the police officers whoâd helped me when I busted the dog-napper last month. He stood off to the side, half hidden by one of the larger brownstones on the street, talking into his cell phone. I walked Preston closer so I could listen. Okay, eavesdrop. I couldnât help but be curious. âHe didnât show up for work this morning, and his hotel room was empty. Dressing room, too,â the officer said. âHis manager and legal guardian. Negative. No sign of a break-in or struggle. Weâve got to talk to the director, too. I know. Yeah, we have no choice. The note on the bed, thatâs all it said. âDonât bother looking, youâll neverâââ
Just then he stopped talking and glanced at
But when I got to science the next day and said hi to Milo, he didnât respond. At first I figured he hadnât heard. He wasnât listening to music, but he was bent over a book. Some science fiction novel, I guessed, based on the cover. Milo reads them all the time.
âGood book?â I asked, raising my voice.
âHuh?â He turned around. âOh, hey,â he said.
âIâve been thinking about Mister Fru Fruâs eggerand Iâm wondering if he or she could be a cat owner. Like, maybe someone really upset with how Park Slope is overrun with dogs?â
I was half joking. Really, I just wanted to have a conversation, make things normal again. But Milo didnât even smile.
Chapter 13
I took Preston on an extra-long walk after school that day because walking helps me think, and I had a lot of thinking to do.
Maybe Milo was mad because Lucy and I had laughed at his beautifying products comment. So should I apologize? What if that wasnât it? And even if it wasâwhat if bringing it up now, a day later, made everything even worse? And how could I waste so much time worrying about it when I had a dog-egger to catch?
Unless Finn was right and Milo did like me and now Iâd blown our entire relationship before we even had a chance to have one.
Wandering around the park did not bring any clarity to the situation.
I decided to swing by the set of
Vanished
. Yes, Jones had banned me, but Seth and I were friends. Okay,maybe not friends, but we were certainly friendly, and heâd told me to stop by.
Rounding the corner from Prospect Park West onto Second Street, I expected to see the crazy winter wonderland Iâd encountered on Wednesday. But Zander and the rest of the crew mustâve been working overtime, because today the street looked like a genuine crime scene.
Each of the six trailers was cordoned off with yellow police tape that read CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS in bold black letters. A bunch of men and women in New York Police Department uniforms wandered around.
They looked so serious, and had authentic-looking caps and everything. But according to Beatrix and Sonya,
Vanished
took place in a universe overrun by teenagers and zombies and giant rats. So why the fake cops? Were they supposed to be teenage cops? These ones seemed too old. Maybe they were zombie cops? They werenât particularly pale, and everyone knows that if the walking dead are one thing, itâs pale. The cameras werenât rolling, but some of them talked into walkie-talkies. Others marched around like they meant business. In other words, they looked like real, live cops. And I had this funny feeling, like something major had gone down.
I looked for my friends, thinking maybe they could tell me why the police were there. But before I found them, I noticed a familiar face.
It was one of the police officers whoâd helped me when I busted the dog-napper last month. He stood off to the side, half hidden by one of the larger brownstones on the street, talking into his cell phone. I walked Preston closer so I could listen. Okay, eavesdrop. I couldnât help but be curious. âHe didnât show up for work this morning, and his hotel room was empty. Dressing room, too,â the officer said. âHis manager and legal guardian. Negative. No sign of a break-in or struggle. Weâve got to talk to the director, too. I know. Yeah, we have no choice. The note on the bed, thatâs all it said. âDonât bother looking, youâll neverâââ
Just then he stopped talking and glanced at
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