There was a huge wooden crate as big as a body with the word Fragile stamped on it a dozen times. There was a gray metal electronic “console”—that’s what the egg-head guy called it—covered with lights and buttons. It was so heavy both guys grunted as they carried it up the porch steps. There were long skinny boxes, and tall skinnier boxes, and big coils of cable, and three computer monitors. The moving guys kept asking, “Where does this go?” and every time, Professor Reese’s answer got more interesting.
Because every time they asked, Professor Reese answered, “The lab.”
2TJ vs. the Dog
I sat down in the grass, and the dog settled next to me, giving a big sigh when I started to scratch his ribs.
Then TJ came outside eating a bagel with cream cheese. (He’s a year younger but almost as tall as I am, which is really annoying.) “So, who’s moving in—”
The dog jumped up and bounded toward him, woofing. TJ yelped, threw the bagel, and ran back inside, slamming our door behind him.
TJ’s scared of big dogs, but I figured once he actually met this one, he’d like him. So I went over to the door, and the dog came with me. (After he ate the bagel.)
There was TJ, with his hands cupped around his eyes, peering through the window part in the door and making the glass fog up.
I heard the bolt slide closed. “Unlock the door, TJ!”
“No!”
I rang the doorbell three times, until Mom answered in her pajamas. “What’s going on?” she asked as TJ ran back toward the kitchen.
We’re not allowed to have a dog. Mom’s asked the landlord—twice. But he’s what Mom calls a “sour old crank” and said no the second time, too. He said he wouldn’t even let us have a dog if it slept in a doghouse in the yard. He had a NO DOG POLICY.
So Mom couldn’t let the dog in the house, which was just as well seeing as how we probably would have had to peel TJ off the kitchen ceiling.
She scooted out to sit on our porch steps. The dog stood with his front paws on the bottom step, looking up at us.
I told Mom about Professor Reese watching the dog for a few days, and all the strange things going into her lab (which we agreed was weird because who has a lab in their house, and what did it used to be, the dining room?). “But she’s really nice.”
Mom kissed the top of my head and patted the top of the dog’s. “I have some blueberries in the freezer. How about I make some muffins for us to take over?”
“OK!”
When Mom opened the front door, TJ slid out about halfway, which made me think he must have been watching us the whole time.
The dog looked at TJ and swished his tail back and forth.
“He’s really sweet,” I said.
“Humph,” TJ replied.
I patted the spot next to me. The dog scrambled up the steps and plopped down, his bony elbows clunking on the porch. I scritched the coarse gray hair on the back of his neck and the softer hair between his crazy eyebrows, and he rolled over into me.
TJ kept the door open, so he could dive back into the house, I guess. But by then I was stroking the tiny hairs on the bridge of the dog’s nose and his long ears, soft as velvet, and he had closed his eyes.
“So the lady moving in is a professor,” I said. “She has a lab in her house.”
TJ scrunched up his eyebrows. “Weird.”
“I know.”
We sat watching the moving van guys. After a while, the dog started to snore. The smell of warm blueberry muffins floated out our doorway, and everything was perfect.
Then no more boxes came out of the van. The egg-head guy pulled down the rattly back hatch, which woke the dog. When the two guys got in the van and slammed their doors, he jumped to his feet. Mom came out in her jeans and T-shirt, holding a big plate.
She handed it to me. The plate was warmed by the stack of muffins, and she’d added a packet of peppermint tea. I decided that when I was a mom, I’d make welcome muffins for new neighbors, too.
“Ready?” Mom asked.
The dog followed me down the stairs, sniffing like crazy. But TJ hung behind. “Come on, TJ!” I said. “He’s not even looking at you!”
“Yeah, right,” he grumbled, but then he came, too. Even though he’s scared of big dogs, TJ hates to miss anything. Also, Mom’s muffins are really good.
We climbed the stairs to Professor Reese’s front porch. “Hello!” Mom called into the open doorway.
Professor Reese hurried out from the back. “Hi, Jordie. I was just coming to get our mutual friend. Thank you again.”
“These are for you.” I held out the plate. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Oh my! They look delicious!” Professor Reese said. “My table and chairs are all set up. Please come in.”
“I’m sure you’re busy,” Mom said. “We just—”
“OK!” I said before she could mess it up. Even if you are busy, you should never be too busy for blueberry muffins. Besides, I wanted to see the lab.
I stepped into the living room past boxes stacked everywhere. Professor Reese had a purple couch and an orange armchair. “You have an orange chair!” I said because all our furniture is brown.
She winked. “I like bright colors.” She led us into the dining room, which meant the lab must be somewhere else. “I’ll put on the kettle. I know just what box it’s in.”
TJ stopped in front of a stack of pictures leaning against the dining table. The first one was a gigantic blue wave, towering up to curl over a little fishing boat. He shook his head. “The guys in that boat are toast.”
Professor Reese laughed. “I got that one in Tokyo. I have prints from all over the world. Take a look while I make the tea.” She headed
