The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. Read Online Free Page B

pet?”
    “No, the kind of dog they would be if they were a dog,” Zig tells him. “Take me, for example. I’m a border collie.”
    I nod. “Shaggy hair, super intelligent, and a loyal companion.” Zig smiles, proud to be a border collie.
    “And you?” Dad looks at me.
    “Irish setter. The American Kennel Club says I’m friendly and amusing.”
    “I won’t argue with that.” Dad sneaks a cookie while Nonna’s rinsing the mixing bowl. “Have you assigned me a dog yet?”
    Zig gives me a sideways look, and I try hard not to laugh.
    “Well?” Dad puts his hands on his hips.
    “Basset hound,” Zig says. “Sorry.”
    Dad’s gaze drops to the gut hanging over his belt, and he frowns. “Come on.”
    “You have to admit . . .” I pat him on the belly. He puts his cookie back.
    “I don’t think I like the dog game.”
    “That’s okay because the dog game just became the tree game,” Zig proclaims. “Same thing, only with trees.” He points to me. “You’re a sugar maple because they’re colorful and fluttery. I’m . . .”
    “You’re that big tall brown tree in front of the school!” I get it now.
    “The oak?” Zig says. “Why am I an oak?”
    “Because you’re not all showy. But you’re important, and . . . stable.”
    Zig taps his chin with his finger. “Okay.” He nods. “I’m an oak. But I want to be a red oak. White oak leaves are all loopy and weird looking.”
    “Fine,” I tell him. “Hold on . . . I’ll be right down after I get dressed.”
    “I thought we’d hike Great Bear Mountain,” Zig calls up after me.
    “Sounds good. Is your mom waiting for us in the car?” I ask from upstairs.
    “Nope,” Zig answers. “She had to work. I figured we could bike there.”
    “Bike!” I come downstairs and expect to see the I’m-just-kidding look on his face. Nope.
    “It’s only eight miles.”
    . . .
    Only eight miles.
    Ha.
    It may be eight miles, but the eight miles from our house to the trailhead are not regular miles. They’re eight miles up and down every hill in the Green Mountains. Running didn’t prepare me for this. By the time Zig and I get to the trailhead, my mouth feels like I’ve just eaten a full bag of cotton balls. I sucked up every drop from my water bottle in the first five miles.
    Zig catches his breath first. “Ready to hike?”
    I wipe my face on the shoulder of my T-shirt and hope my cheeks aren’t hideously red. It’s bad enough that half my hair has escaped from its ponytail and is curling out in frizzy little explosions around my ears. I wonder what kind of tree has scraggly edges and shiny cheeks.
    By the time I catch up to Zig, he’s already stopped at a tree with low branches, squinting up at the leaves through his thick glasses. They’re held together on the side with duct tape again.
    “Zig.” I point to the sticky gray mass of tape. “You look like a bad cartoon of a nerd.”
    “This will be in style soon. I’m a trendsetter.” He laughs and pushes up the glasses. “Besides, frames are expensive.” I look down at my sneakers. Zig’s dad left before I met him, and his mom works two jobs.
    “Here.” Zig pushes the leaf key into my hands. “You follow the key and ask me the questions, and I’ll let you know which answer to go with.”
    I ask, he answers, and I turn to whatever page the book says to go to. It’s pretty easy.
    “Okay, are the leaves simple or compound?” I try to sound official.
    “Simple.”
    “That doesn’t look simple to me.” I frown and look over his shoulder at what appears to be a pretty fancy leaf.
    “They’re simple.” He elbows me back onto the trail. “That means they’re not compound—with more than one blade attached to a single stalk. Remember?”
    I nod, even though I don’t. The leaf key says turn to page 4.
    “Are they alternate or opposite?”
    “Opposite.”
    “Opposite of what?”
    Zig sighs. “Each other. They’re across from each other on the same twig.” He points to the