Simon Sort of Says: (Newbery Honor Book)

by Erin Bow

Castle Simon has been sitting empty since fifth grade.

My mom calls this my Simon Says mode, where I do what I’m told and don’t ask questions, because, hey, that’s what keeps you alive in the game.

“So. You’ve got a genius dog that can open doors and turn on lights and operate heavy machinery or whatever, but he doesn’t care about pleasing people?”

My first night with Hercules is awful. We think about training him to sleep in a dog crate, but a) we don’t have a dog crate, and b) the thought of putting him in a tiny space where he’s scared and can’t get out is just way more than I can handle.

My mom and dad always say that they have an agreement: They make life-and-death decisions together, but Mom gets to make the death decisions all on her own. Dad goes.

Dad’s first big day at St. Barbara’s was Ash Wednesday—the day when Catholics get holy ashes dabbed on their foreheads to remind everybody about death, and also as a town-wide spot check on who actually goes to church.