Welcome to Dog Beach by Lisa Greenwald Page A

money, since I enjoy watching the dogs and spending time with them so much. In some ways, I feel like I should be paying
them
. Spending time with these pups has helped me so much when I’m sad and missing Danish. It’s not like he’s been replaced, but spending time with other dogs is better than spending time without any dogs at all. In the back of my mind, I’ve already decided that I’m going to donate the money to an animal shelter in Manhattan when we get home.
    We’re all so tired after the morning of dog-sitting that we head down to the pool and get side-by-side lounge chairs and decide to pull a Mr. Brookfield and take an afternoon nap right out in the open.
    â€œPsst,” I hear Micayla say, from the lounge chair next to me.
    â€œI’m sleeping,” I mumble, even though I know that won’t stop Micayla from talking. We made a pact at a sleepover when we were eight that we could always wake each other up if we had something to say. And we’ve never broken that pact.
    â€œDo you think it’s weird that people trust us so much with their dogs?” she whispers.
    â€œNo, they can tell we’re dog people,” I assure her. “Dog people can sense other dog people. It’s kind of like how moms can tell if another woman is a mom too.”
    â€œIs that true?” Micayla asks.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œOkay,” Micayla says, and closes her eyes again.
    But after that, I’m pretty convinced my afternoon nap is over. I’ve never been much of a napper. My mom says that getting me to nap even as a baby was pretty difficult, that the only place I’d really nap was in the stroller on the boardwalk. Obviously this only worked in the summer months, so winter in New York City was kind of hard.
    I look over at my two friends, sleeping peacefully on the beautiful royal blue lounge chairs, and I realize that though things may be different this summer—it’s strange without Danish, and we didn’t expect to be dog-sitting—maybe different is okay. Maybe I can get used to different.

After the pool, I’m home, sitting on the front porch with my mom, when Mr. Brookfield walks over and asks to talk to her. That’s something about Seagate that’s probably the most different thing of all—people rarely use the phone; they’ll just walk to someone’s house to talk to them. It’s kind of like we’re living in olden times, in a tiny village.
    My mom walks with Mr. Brookfield over to the garden at the side of the house. I twist my head a little to move my ear as close to the conversation as possible.
    â€œTheir mother would like them to be more social,” I hear Mr. Brookfield say. “I am doing what I can. Would Remy like to come over for pizza later?”
    I can’t help but smile. Mr. Brookfield is making plans for Calvin and Claire like they’re little kids. I bet back in Westchester, they’re super popular and always busy. But onSeagate, if you’re not happy, you’re a little bit weird.
    â€œIt’s fine with me, but maybe you’ll just want to ask Remy on your way out?” I hear my mom say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to say yes if I don’t know if Micayla and Bennett are going. I don’t know Calvin and Claire that well, and they don’t really seem to like me, so I wouldn’t want to go alone. But I can’t tell Mr. Brookfield that.
    â€œRemy, my dear.” Mr. Brookfield looks around for me. He pretty much calls everyone his dear, but it’s still a nice thing to say. “Would you care to dine at Casa Brookfield this evening? We will be eating Seagate’s finest pizza.”
    I smile. “I accept your invitation, Mr. Brookfield.”
    â€œShe’s so polite,” he tells my mom, and then turns to me. “See you at six.”
    When we can’t see Mr. Brookfield anymore, my mom says, “That was nice of