Girl's Best Friend Read Free

restaurant on Smith Street. But then John took up yoga and that was the end of that.
    Although Isabel loses stuff all the time—glasses, jewelry, cell phones, husbands—she’s managed to hang on to her brownstone for years, but just barely. When John left, he borrowed a lot of money from Isabel, and when I say borrowed, I actually mean stole. By then, Isabel’s Broadway career was over. She had nothing left but her house, so she carved it up into apartments and rented them out one by one.
    Ours was the first. My parents moved in as soon as they found out they were having me and Finn. Before that they lived in Manhattan, which is just over the bridge but is too expensive for twins. That’s why Brooklyn is my middle name, and Finn’s as well. It’s a running joke between my parents. Had twins, had to move to Brooklyn. I guess it’s funny to them.
    “I used to get lost in this house,” Isabel said, like she could read my mind. “And now I’m crammed into the first floor.”
    “It’s a nice place,” I said as I opened the door. “See you later.”
    “Ciao, bella.” Isabel knows about ten words in Italian and uses them whenever possible.
    Once outside, I blinked in the afternoon sun. Our brownstone is on Garfield Place, just half a block away from Prospect Park, and that’s where I took Preston. It was a bright and crisp apple-crunching sort of day, perfect for strolling through the park with a really cool dog.
    And if you’re my brother, it was the perfect day for kicking around a soccer ball, which is what he was doing with his best friends, Otto and Red. It’s kind of funny that I ran into them since the park stretches on for miles and it’s got rolling hills, winding paths, a wooded nature trail, and plenty of places to get lost. Then again, they were playing on the Long Meadow pretty close to the nearest park entrance, so it wasn’t that crazy.
    Anyway, I waved, and once Finn noticed me he called a time-out and jogged over. Otto and Red ignored me, but that was okay. Otto is way into comic books and looks it. Red has black hair and ironic parents. They’ve all been friends since kindergarten and they hang around our apartment so much, they don’t seem like real boys to me. Or at least not the kind I find myself thinking about late at night.
    And in the morning.
    Afternoon, too.
    “Hey,” said Finn. He kept his hands in the pockets of his faded green cords so he wouldn’t be tempted to pet Preston. Poor guy breaks out in hives every time he touches animal fur, which is a shame since he loves dogs so much.
    Finn and I aren’t identical twins, obviously. But we do have a lot in common—wavy brown hair, eyes that are green or hazel depending on the light, and a complexion that people call olive, like our dad’s, who’s Greek. We’re both fairly tall for our age, although Finn is tall and skinny and I’m a little curvy. And we’re both kind of quiet, but with Finn it comes across as intriguing. Girls always wonder what he’s thinking about. My kind of quiet makes me invisible sometimes.
    Except not when it really matters.
    “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
    “He has a meeting in the city. Said he’d be back by six.”
    I checked my watch. It was only three thirty. “Cool, thanks.”
    “He wants us to make a salad for dinner, but will you do it?” Finn’s question sounded more like an order.
    “The whole thing?” I asked. “Isn’t that blackmail?”
    “No, I’m just saying—you’ve gotta be nice to your lookout.” Finn headed back to his friends. Then he turned around to yell, “We can’t just have grape tomatoes. That’s cheating. You’ve gotta cut stuff up.”
    “I wasn’t going to just do tomatoes!”
    Finn didn’t bother to reply. Not that he needed to. We both knew I couldn’t be a dog walker without his help.
    My mom isn’t the problem. She’s a lawyer in Manhattan and usually doesn’t get home until after six. It’s my dad I have to look out for. He makes