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front of my door the way Peachie had stood in front of the barn. Or I’d go right now, and pretend to get him and we’d both jump out of the window, drop onto the roof. We’d run. We’d hide. Grace would help us. She liked Riley even if she was mad at him. She wouldn’t want him killed.
    “I’ll get him,” Dad said. “I don’t want my son to have to bring him down. Where’s his leash, William?”
    “No place!” I shouted.
    “It’s by the door,” Mom said in a defeated kind of way.
    “You can’t have him,” I told Dad. “You don’t even know him. He’s mine. I’m—”
    “William,” Dad said. “There’s no argument about this. I wish there were.”
    I blocked the bottom of the stairs. “You’re not my dad anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”
    “Move, son. The dog has to go.”
    He pushed past me and I went up after him, dragging on the back of his shirt. “Please, Dad. Please, no.”
    He opened the bedroom door and Riley came bounding out, crazy with joy, rushing past Dad to me, almost knocking me backward down the stairs, he was so happy to see me.
    I grabbed him around the neck and tried not to let Dad clip the leash onto his collar. “No. No.” I kept pushing his hand away.
    “Stop it, William.” Dad was angry now.
    Officer Dobbs was coming up the stairs with Mom behind him. “Easy, son,” he said. “Easy.”
    “Doesn’t he even get a trial?” I shouted. “This is supposed to be America.”
    I rushed into my room, banged the door, locked it, and crawled under my bed. I was crying in big, noisy gulps.
    Even though I put my hands over my ears, I heard Riley whine. I heard the doors of the truck slam, heard the wheels crunch down the driveway. I didn’t hear our creaky gate close. They’d left it open. Well, we didn’t need to worry about that anymore.

Chapter 8

    M om came up and knocked on my door. “Come down, sweetie, and eat with us,” she called. “Dad has to go pretty soon.”
    When she came up the second time, I called, “Okay. Okay. I’m coming.”
    I put a clean T-shirt on and went down.
    Mom had fixed a salad and macaroni and cheese, the expensive kind you fix in the oven that has real Parmesan in the package.
    Dad sat in the chair that used to be his and I sat in mine. I tried not to think of Riley not being on the rug beside me. I let my arm droop down. That’s what I did when he was there, and he’d lick my hand and lick and lick.
    I swallowed and pushed my plate away.
    “I’m wondering,” Mom said. “Could we appeal? Legally, I mean. Should we get a lawyer?”
    I sat straight up. “Appeal? That’s a great idea.”
    “After all,” Mom said, “Riley didn’t bite the Sultan. Surely he doesn’t have to be put to sleep for that. Shouldn’t it be only if he attacks?”
    I nodded hard. “And he didn’t attack. We should definitely appeal.”
    Dad wasn’t eating much either. Maybe he’d meant it when he said he was sorry. Or maybe Phoebe’s some great cook and he doesn’t like Mom’s kind of macaroni and cheese anymore.
    “The law in Oregon says chasing is enough,” he said.
    “But that’s unfair. That’s a rotten unfair law.” I tried to hold it back, but a big sob just burped right out of me.
    Mom touched my glass. “At least drink your milk, William,” she said gently.
    I took a sip. “What if Peachie took back her complaint? What if she’s sorry now?” I crumpled my napkin and stood up. “I bet she is. Wouldn’t it be a good idea if I went over and talked to her? If she took away her complaint, they’d probably let him come home.”
    “I don’t know,” Mom said. “But it’s worth a. try.”
    “Do you want us to come with you?” Dad asked. “It won’t be easy, you know, William. She must havebeen awfully angry to call the animal-control people. And she probably still is.”
    “I’ll go myself,” I said. “Riley’s my dog. I’m the one who let him get away.”
    I ran upstairs to get my shoes, which I’d kicked