Read Online Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff - Free Book Online Page A

the hair. Stare hard. Could it be poor Fred? My heart stops beating.
    Zack clutches my arm. “We have to go after him, give him a decent burial.”
    â€œWe’d need a boat,” I say.
    Zack shakes his head. “No good. There’s no time to build one.”
    I slap at a mosquito, staring at the pond, trying for inspiration.
    â€œI’ve got it,” Zack says. “Pop’s old boards! We could build a raft.”
    I’ve said it a million times. You can’t beat Zack for brains.
    â€œActually . . .” He squints out at the pond. “We don’t even have to go that far. We can each take a board, straddle it, and paddle out with our hands.”
    I make my own Jell-O mouth. “Are you sure the boards will hold us up?”
    I don’t want to remind him that Bradley said once that the pond is miles deep. I don’t even want to remind myself that I’m not the greatest swimmer in the world and Zack is worse.
    Zack, the thinker, points. “Don’t you see that board of Pop’s in the center?”
    â€œIt’s floating, all right,” I say. “At least half of it.”
    â€œSo what’s your worry?”
    I’m filled with worry. I don’t even know where to begin. Instead, I check out boards under one side of the tree; Zack tackles the other side. Most of the boards have nails poking out like porcupines; a few would snap in half even if Mary tried to ride them. “I guess this isn’t going to work,” I say, almost relieved.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he says. “I’ve got two perfect ones right here.”
    They don’t look perfect to me. But Fred’s out there,
a floater
, as Bradley would say, and already I’m planning the perfect funeral.

Chapter 18
    We throw our sneakers under the tree, then pick up the boards. Like a pair of ponies, we gallop to the edge of the pond and belly-flop in.
    We’re soaked in muddy water in two seconds, but Zack is right. The boards seem to be holding up well underneath us.
    Something slithers behind me in the murky water. It’s long and narrow: a snake, of course. William collected them until Mom said they might be poisonous. This one certainly looks poisonous, with its slippery yellow back. Maybe it’s a python.
    I’m glad we have only a collection of worms.
    I don’t want to get my hands too close to the snake, but I have to paddle. I dip in two fingers and try to push the water away from me. The snake speeds after me as if we’re having a race.
    It’s winning.
    This may be the worst thing that’s ever happened tous. I glance back at the water’s edge. How did it get so far away?
    I look down at the snake. He seems to have grown in a minute; he’s almost as wide as my wrist. “Snake!” I yell, to warn Zack.
    Up ahead, Zack is having his own problems. He seems to be much lower in the water than I am. The board has disappeared, and so have his legs. He looks as if he ends at his waist.
    I paddle faster to catch up to him.
    He’s paddling faster, too. But now I can’t even see his waist. He ends halfway up his orange T-shirt. But it isn’t orange anymore; it’s mud color.
    And something else. I seem to be riding lower in the water, too.
    â€œWe’re sinking!” I try to turn. I paddle with my hands, my arms; I seesaw my legs back and forth. The water churns underneath me.
    I’m disappearing into the water. Never mind the snake. I’ll be drowned before he can take a bite out of me.
    And there goes Zack. He’s finished. “Goodbye, brother!” I yell.
    He gurgles something back.
    And then he’s gone. All that’s left is the top of his head, covered by a smear of muck.
    I’m next. I take a last look at the pond. We’re dead center. Pop’s floating board is a foot away; so is Fred’s corpse.
    Bradley is going to be thrilled.
    I’m dead. Not breathing. Coughing.