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looking at me—Naveen eagerly, Stella skeptically—and I wondered how many more times we’d be here, the three of us, like this.
    â€œBecause now it’s time to collect the stink,” I said. “And I need your help.”
    Stella stood up and stretched. “I’m outta here.”
    â€œDon’t go!” I tugged on her jeans. “You can just be the lookout, okay?”
    She groaned.
    â€œWhere we headed?” Naveen said.
    I took a deep breath and let out my best moo .

    Depler’s Orchard, home of the two cows —Daisy and Maisy—that mooed my family awake on sunny mornings, was our nearest next-door neighbor just up the road past the woods at the far end of our yard. Naveen suggested we stop at his place to get a tennis ball so we could pretend we were retrieving a ball we’d been playing with if we got caught. I’d brought the spatula, a couple pairs of rubber gloves, and some plastic grocery bags, which prompted Stella to say several times, “I am not going anywhere near any cow turd.”
    The house where Mr. Depler lived was set pretty far back from the road, and the cows lived in an area away from his front door. The odds were in our favor that he’d never see us. His car was in the driveway, so he was home, which was less than ideal, but there was no point in backing out now. If we got caught, we got caught. So I said, “Time’s a wastin’. Come on.”
    Naveen and I abandoned our bikes on the side of the road, and took big strides down to the fenced-in area where the cows were hanging out, tails wagging lazily with their backs to us. Itwas a post fence, one you could slip through if you weren’t as big as a cow. I had my eye on a huge pile of cow turd that was easily within reach. I headed for it with the spatula in hand and slid it under—so gross! It actually squished —and lifted some into the bag that Naveen, also wearing gloves, was holding.
    â€œMan, that reeks,” he said.
    â€œIndeed it does. You think that’s enough?” I asked, studying what was left of the pile. A few flies were hovering, buzzing.
    â€œShould do the trick.” He looked around and I almost laughed at how serious he looked, though, of course, I was pretty serious about this mission, too. “Anyway, plenty more where that came from if you need it.”
    One of the cows mooed and we both jumped.
    While speed-walking back toward our bikes, I hurled the soiled spatula into the woods between Depler’s house and ours. I couldn’t imagine ever letting my mother flip an omelet with it again anyway.
    Stella was already on her bike when we got close to her and she took off, calling out, “I’ll text you later!”
    And she was gone.
    Naveen and I got on our bikes—with the bag of stink hanging off my handlebars—and rode over to Big Red.
    â€œHow am I going to get it up to my room without them noticing?” I asked. We’d stopped in the driveway.
    Naveen studied my house, where my bedroom windows sat atop the porch roof. “I may not be particularly sporty. But even I can throw that high.”
    I considered the windows, the angle of the porch. “We only have one shot. Because if I can’t catch it and it slides into the gutter and clogs it, I’m sunk.”
    â€œNot to worry,” he said. “I am cool under pressure.”
    â€œYou’re the best.” I handed over the bag of stink, leaned my bike against the front gate, and went inside.
    My mom was in the kitchen, chopping something or other, and I said “Hi” as I went up to my room. I opened the window nearest the door to the loft and then backed away and closed it. I’d completely forgotten about the wasp’s nest out there. My dad was supposed to call a guy to get rid of it but he kept putting it off. I went to the other one, the one I usually kept open a crack on warm nights, since it was closer to my bed.