Dad works at the music store, selling guitars and ukuleles and banjos, but they don’t open until ten, so he’s always relaxed in the mornings.
He was sitting on the couch in a black T-shirt and blue jeans with his guitar on his lap and a cup of coffee on the floor by his bare feet. He nodded at me and kept playing.
I filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave to make hot chocolate.
Suddenly, I thought, Microwaves are heating up the water. I’d seen them on the posters in Professor Reese’s lab, and now I knew they were part of the electromagnetic spectrum and made the water hot enough to melt the floaty little marshmallows.
I’d never really thought about how the water got hot before—I’d always just pushed the start button.
I added the cocoa mix and then settled on the couch. I told Dad all about Professor Reese’s lab and the lights going out.
“Hmm. A lot of older homes in our neighborhood have old wiring. She probably had a tripped circuit breaker,” Dad said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“If you have too many things plugged in, it can overload the circuit. The circuit breaker trips to avoid overheating.”
“But we have an old house, too,” I said. “Our circuits never trip.”
Dad shrugged. “She must have been trying to draw a whole lot of power.”
“Huh,” I said.
Then Dad’s phone rang.
He winced. “It’s Mom.” He pushed the button and said, “A bright and shiny good morning!”
I thought, Uh-oh.
I looked over at Dad’s clock. 7:21. I’d just blabbed my way through another great opportunity to be dependable.
“Uh-huh . . .” Dad said into the phone. “Seven fifteen on the nose . . .” He cupped his palm over the mouthpiece and whispered to me, “Mom’s mad at us.”
I dumped my cup into his sink and ran back home because I’ve noticed if I get there before she hangs up, then she’s annoyed at me but also annoyed at Dad who’s still on the other end of the line. It’s not as bad split up like that.
I shut the front door as quietly as possible and hurried to TJ’s room because I’ve also noticed it looks like I’m not as late if I’m waiting for him.
He was in his room, setting up for the next picture of his short.
“Hurry up!” I said. “I want to say good morning to Baxter!”
“We still have three minutes.”
“But I need to see where she hides the key. C’mon, TJ! We have a deal!”
“OK, OK!”
Mom was still talking to Dad. It was a good time to leave.
“TJ’s finally ready,” I yelled to Mom. “Bye!” I hustled him out the door and over to Professor Reese’s.
TJ hung back on the sidewalk, but I went up and rang the doorbell. Baxter woofed Hello hello hello hello until Professor Reese opened the door in a yellow leotard and black footless tights. She kind of looked like a bumblebee except she was holding a newspaper. “What’s a six-letter ‘tropical fruit,’ Jordie?” she said, as Baxter pushed past her.
“What?” Then I saw that the newspaper was unfolded to the crossword puzzle. “Um, banana?” Baxter stuck his cold, wet nose in my hands. “Hi, Baxter!”
“Of course!” Professor Reese scribbled it in. “With all those a’s I kept thinking papaya, but the y didn’t fit.” She waved to TJ. He waved back.
Meanwhile, I was petting Baxter all over. He wagged not just his tail but his whole back half. He wagged so hard, he practically fell off his own back feet. Then he bounded down the walk toward TJ.
TJ swung his backpack off his back and held it in front of him like a shield or maybe a battering ram. “Sit! Stay! Heel!”
But Professor Reese gave a whistle before Baxter’s exuberance had a chance to knock TJ over. Baxter came right back to her. “He is so smart,” she told me (Baxter, not TJ). “While I do my morning crossword, I like to do yoga—the blood flow is good for the brain. And Baxter’s been helping me. Every time I do a downward dog pose to help me figure out a word, he does upward dog, and our noses meet.”
“I wish I could hang out all morning with Baxter.” I fluffed up his crazy silver eyebrows to make them even crazier.
“Well, you have the next best thing: your mom called this morning to say it was OK for you and TJ to walk him after school.”
“I can’t wait!” I said, because even if Baxter slept at Professor Reese’s house at night, if I took him for a walk during the day, he’d be half my dog.
“Let me show you where I hid the key,” she said. “It’s by the back door . . .” She led me around the side of the house, with Baxter coming, too, and TJ, not at all.
As we walked, I said, “I saw your lights go out last night.”
She smiled. “I had too many things plugged into the same outlet in the lab.”
“For your project that you’re still figuring out?”
“Yep.”
“Huh,” I said.
“Ah, here we are,” she said as we reached the back door. “The key’s under the pink begonia,” which, it turned out, was a flowerpot full of pink flowers.
I lifted the clay pot and there was the key. “OK.”
I turned to Baxter and patted my shoulders. He reared up on his hind legs and planted his paws. “Ever since me and Baxter saw eye to eye on Saturday, he’s understood me. Watch this!”
I smiled at Baxter. “I get to walk you after school!”
He grinned back.
“See, he’s smiling!” I said.
“Interesting,” Professor Reese said. “He appears to have highly developed mirror neurons.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re special cells in the brain. Some scientists believe mirror neurons help infant animals learn from their parents,” Professor Reese said. “They may help an animal understand the actions of another animal.”
“TJ didn’t believe me,” I said to Baxter. “But I knew you understood me. Right?”
I nodded, and
