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just gave him a look. “Don't make this a production, Logan.”
    Logan exhaled.
Okay.
    The way he saw it, it would be sort of like ordering an anchovy pizza for Robert—even though he knew Robert hated anchovies— then eating it himself because he loved anchovies. It would be pretty obvious that he'd ordered the pizza for himself all along. Not that it would do any good to point this out to Robert. He already seemed angry enough.
    Robert marched out of the kitchen.
    “So when are
we
getting the dog?” Logan called after him.
    “Today.” Robert's voice floated back from the front hall. “You and your mother are picking it up this morning. Now, if I've answered all your questions satisfactorily, maybe you'll excuse me. Some of us work for a living.” He slammed the front door.
    “See you later,” Logan said to the empty kitchen.
    Robert always went on about how he “worked for a living”— and worked very hard. Mom worked, too, though. She worked at the Newburg library, five days a week plus every other Saturday. But she never talked about how hard
she
worked.
    Robert sold cars. Nice ones—mostly BMWs and Porsches, the kinds of cars that pretty much sold themselves. That didn't seem like very hard work to Logan. Then again, Robert liked to make a big deal about pretty much everything.
    Logan looked sideways at his mother. She hadn't said a word since they'd left the house. They'd already been in the car for twenty minutes. Judging from the creases in her forehead, she wasn't in a good mood. Maybe she didn't want a dog, either.
    Of course, Mom was a nervous driver. That might have something to do with her mood. The breeder lived in a hilly area west of Newburg, and the roads were twisty, with a lot of unexpected stoplights.
    Mom didn't drive that much. Robert always insisted on doing the honors—since he was in the automotive business, as he liked to point out.
    “So, Mom,” Logan finally said. “Isn't buying a dog from a breeder pretty expensive?”
    She nodded. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
    “How much will Jack cost?” Logan asked.
    “Six hundred dollars,” she murmured.
    “Six hundred dollars?” he cried. “You've got to be—”
    “You should consider yourself lucky, Logan,” she interrupted. “Until last night, Robert was going to spend that money on sending you to the Blue Mountain Camp for Boys. After Saturday he called and reserved a spot.”
    Logan shook his head. “Oh, okay,” he said. “I get it. He decided a dog would be a better way to spend the money than boot camp. That way, even if I get into trouble again,
he'll
at least have the perfect pet. Right? Plus I'm sure the dog is cheaper.”
    Mom's lips thinned even more. “Logan, I don't know what to do with you,” she said. “Robert may not be perfect—”
    Understatement of the year
, Logan thought.
    “—but at least he's trying,” Mom went on. “Why do you seem to do everything you possibly can to antagonize him?”
    “Trying?” Logan burst out. “
Trying?
The only thing he's
trying
to do is turn me into Devon Wallace. Either that or get rid of me. And you just go along with everything he says!”
    Logan's mother winced. “I try to defend you. I really do,” she said quietly. “But with all the trouble you've had at school, and then the Wallaces' barbecue on top of that—” She shook her head. “You don't leave me a leg to stand on.”
    After that there really wasn't much to say. They rode in silence for a few moments.
    “So we're really going to spend six hundred dollars on a dog,” Logan said at last.
    “We really are.”
    “That's totally insane,” Logan said. “It's worse than insane. It's wrong.”
    “What do you mean, wrong?”
    Logan searched for an argument. “I mean, there are dogs at dog pounds and animal shelters. And nobody wants them, and they don't cost a cent, and if people don't take them, they get put to sleep.”
    Logan's mother gave him a look out of the corner of her eye.