Ann Martin - New York, New York!

A few minutes later, we filed off the bus.

"See you tomorrow!" I called to Mac. "Hey, Mal! Wait for me!" I had to wait longer than I'd expected. Mal said she needed something from the classroom. She returned looking subdued. But as we rode back to Stacey's, I couldn't stop grinning. I knew that lots of hard work lay ahead of me, but so what? I could do anything.

"Claudia?" said Mal tentatively, as we flew along a side street. "I don't think this serious art stuff is really for me. I'm glad I tried it, but I'm going back to my animals and mushrooms and raindrops. My kind of art." "Mal, I'm sorry," was my reply. (I meant for being so mean.) She must have understood because she said simply, "That's okay." Kristy.

Chapter 19.

You'd think that with all the Sonny signs we'd put up, and that with the millions of people who must have walked by them everyday, I'd have received more than one call from someone wanting a dog.

That one call came on Monday evening. Laine's father answered the phone. Then he said, "Kristy, this man saw one of your signs. He wants to talk to you about Sonny. He sounds pretty interested." "Oh!" I said. I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or sad. I needed to find a good home for Sonny, but in the back of my mind I was hoping it would be at our house in Connecticut.

I took the phone from Mr. Cummings. "Hello?" I said.

"Hello?" answered a voice. "I'm calling about the collie. I saw a sign ..." The voice trailed off.

"Is he your collie? Did you lose him?" "No. I'm looking for a pet for my children." "Well, Sonny is very good-natured," I assured the man. "He's gentle and he loves to play. And even though he's a stray, he's healthy. I took him to the vet. No mange or anything." "How old is he?" asked the man.

"Three." "Three months?" "No, three years." Sheesh. I had put that on the sign. Didn't the guy read?

"Oh. Sorry. I guess I'm not interested then. I'm looking for a puppy for my kids." "Okay." I hung up. Sonny was sitting beside me. I bent down to scratch the spots behind his ears. "You wouldn't have wanted to live with that family anyway," I told Sonny. "The father is an airhead." By Wednesday, though, I almost wished that the airhead had decided to take Sonny. But only because no one else seemed to want him. The Cummingses liked Sonny all right, but they were serious about not getting a pet. Mr. McGill was interested in Sonny, but didn't see how he could care for him by himself. "Who would walk him while I'm at the office all day?" he asked.

Good point.

On Wednesday, in an attempt to un-tizzy myself, I decided to take Sonny for a walk in the park, just the two of us. I was clipping his leash to his collar when the phone rang.

"It's for you, Kristy!" called Laine's mom.

"Okay!" I looked at Sonny. "You wait right here," I told him. "When I come back, we'll take our walk. Maybe I'll buy you an ice cream." I ran to the kitchen, where Mrs. Cum-mings handed me the phone.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hello?" answered a small voice. It belonged to a child.

"Who is this?" I asked. I didn't think it was Karen or Andrew.

"This is Brandon." "Brandon?" "Mm-hmm. I saw your sign about the dog. I want one. Mommy and Daddy said I could have one. I'm nine years old. I'm very responsible." I smiled. But then I remembered the other phone call. "The dog's name is Sonny," I told Brandon, "and he's three years old. He's not a puppy." "Oh, good. So he's trained, right?" "Right." "Phew. Daddy doesn't want to have to train a dog. He says it's too much work. Especially in an apartment." "I guess that's true." "I've been wanting a dog for a long time," Brandon informed me.

"Well, would you like to meet Sonny?" "Sure!" "Great. When?" "Right now. I want to meet him right now." I hesitated. I'd been hoping that Brandon couldn't see him until the next day. Then I could spend a little more time with Sonny. I also knew that the sooner I met Brandon's family and saw their apartment, the better.

"Okay," I said to Brandon. "Where do you live?" (Maybe he lived in Minnesota. Or in a building that doesn't allow pets.) Brandon gave me his address. He lived just four blocks from Laine. And, he said, practically everyone in his building had a pet.

Oh.

"Mrs. Cummings?" I called after I'd hung up the phone. "That was a little boy who wants to see Sonny. I'm going to walk him to Brandon's apartment." I gave Mrs. Cummings the address, and she said she'd come pick me up in an hour. I didn't know whether I wanted to be with or without Sonny then.

"Good luck," called Mrs. Cummings.

"Well, boy," I said as I walked Sonny down Laine's block, "you're going to meet someone named Brandon. He might be your new owner." Sonny gave me a doggie smile.

"Be on your best behavior," I went on. "Mind your manners." Sonny and I reached Brandon's block, which wasn't as fancy as Stacey's. The buildings were smaller, and some looked rundown. But Brandon's building seemed nice enough. I led Sonny up a flight of stairs and through a doorway. In the vestibule, I saw a panel of buttons. I pressed the one marked 3B — Leech.

An excited voice blared over the intercom. "Is that Kristy? And my dog?" "Yup," I replied.

"Okay. Come on up. We're on the third floor." Brandon buzzed the inner door for me, and I pushed it open. "Come on, Sonny," I said. The door closed behind us. I looked at the hallway. It was dark and shabby. Also, there was no elevator. "You're going to get a lot of exercise if you move here," I told Sonny.

We walked up two long flights of stairs. Sonny was huffing and panting by the time we reached the third floor. (So was I.) I was beginning to peer at the numbers on the apartment doors, when one door flew open and a little boy bounded into the hall.

"Hi, I'm Brandon," he announced.

"I'm Kristy," I replied, "and this is Sonny." Brandon knelt down. He looked seriously into Sonny's eyes. "Do you like to play ball?" he asked.

Sonny stretched forward and licked Bran-don's nose.

Brandon laughed. "Come on inside," he said. He took Sonny's leash.

I followed Brandon and Sonny through the open door and into a small apartment. A man was standing in front of a couch. He stuck out his hand. "Hello," he said. "I'm Mr. Leech, Brandon's father." I introduced myself, and then Mr. Leech told me about Brandon and his family. Mrs. Leech was at work, he said. (Mr. Leech worked at night.) Brandon had no brothers or sisters and was occasionally lonely. His father thought a gentle dog would be good for Brandon, and anyway, Brandon had been asking for a pet.

While Mr. Leech was talking, Brandon was patting Sonny and tossing a ball to him. I couldn't tell whether he'd been listening to his father. At any rate, he soon spoke up. "I promise, promise, promise I'll take extra good care of Sonny. I'll play with him and I'll remember to feed him and I'll walk him a lot. I won't forget to fill his water dish or anything. Honest." I looked around the Leeches' apartment. It was small. The furniture was old and worn. But someone had crocheted afghans for the couch, and dried flowers were arranged in vases. Plus, Mr. Leech obviously cared very much for his son, while Brandon already cared for Sonny.

I smiled at Mr. Leech and then at Brandon. I knew I had found the right home for Sonny, Son of Louie.

"What are you going to call Sonny?" I asked.

"You mean I can keep him?" replied Brandon.

"If it's okay with your dad." "He's all yours," Mr. Leech said to Brandon.

"All right!" cried Brandon. He threw his arms around his father, then around me, and finally around Sonny.

"So what are you going to call him?" I asked again.

I could barely hear Brandon's answer, since his face was still buried in Sonny's neck. But I think this is what he said: "I'm going to call him Sonny, of course." Mallory.

Chapter 20.