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

Sputtering.
    Arms over my head.
    Legs kicking.
    And then I’m up.
    Really up.
    Standing up.
    Pop’s boards pop up, too.
    How can that be, in this bottomless pond?
    Next to me, Zack is standing, blinking water out of his eyes.
    The water is only up to our middles.
    â€œWhat’s the matter with that Bradley, anyway?” Zack reaches down and splashes up some of the water with his hands to clean his face.
    Not much better.
    I don’t even bother. We have to scoop Fred up and get out of this pond before a nest of snakes descends on us.
    And that’s what we do. We take a few steps, mud squishing between our toes. We reach out and pull. Fred doesn’t come up. He’s really in there solid. A pain right to the end.
    I give another yank. And something comes up. But it’s not Fred. It’s a pile of reeds, or weeds, or something. A pair of snails hang on to the roots; so does a stringy snake.
    â€œNot Fred after all,” Zack says. “This whole thing has been for nothing.”
    We stagger out of the pond, leaving Pop’s boards tofloat around by themselves. We throw ourselves down in the mud around the pond and take a few breaths. What next? I count on my fingers. We still have to find Fred, then the kidnapper . . .
    Could it be William?
    Then read three books that will change our lives.
    â€œOur lives
need
changing,” Zack says, reading my mind.
    It’s too much to think about.
    I hear the sound of skateboards on Suicide Hill.
    Things could always be worse.
    I lie back and close my eyes.

Chapter 19
    We slog our way across the street, dripping muck and weeds. I use my hands like windshield wipers, back and forth across my cheeks, my forehead, my eyes.
    Behind us, someone is laughing like a maniac. I don’t even bother to turn around. It’s Bradley the Bully, of course. He must have watched the whole not-nearly-drowning event.
    Forks and spoons clink on bushes. Pop holds his head. “Some idiot is stringing pots and pans all over the backyard, and . . .”
    He waves his arm at the dangling spoons in front of him. “I don’t know how we’ll cook tonight, how we’ll eat.” He breaks off. “What have you two been up to now?”
    â€œUm . . . ,” I begin.
    Pop comes down the steps. “I don’t even want to know.”
    It’s a good thing. I’m too worn out to make up a story. What I’m going to do is rinse myself off and lie on the grass for an hour before I begin to check out the kidnapper with the Gussie’s Gym bag on his back.
    But no. Pop has other ideas. Saving the family is not an option.
    â€œClean yourselves up,” he says, “and then we’re going to turn this lawn over and reseed the whole thing.”
    Inside, Mary is banging the last spoons around, and K.G. is screaming at the top of her lungs. We can see Steadman out the back window. He’s all right, hammering at the falling-apart playhouse, trying to shore it up.
    â€œHow about William for the lawn instead of us?” Zack asks.
    â€œWilliam!” Pop slaps his forehead. “William! He’s in the kitchen clearing the green glop off the table.”
    It’s really not great when Pop takes a day off from work. If only he’d relax, enjoy the end of the summer.
    He forces a smile. It’s because Becca has just arrived. “Hi, Mr. Moran.” She looks a little uneasy. “I hear Fred has disappeared.”
    â€œWhat next?” Pop says, kicking at the monstrosity monument.
    â€œIt’s much more peaceful without him,” Becca says. “I’m Fred’s target. He barks, he growls, he chews my leg. Not a very nice dog, right?”
    But Steadman has appeared in front, his eyes red. “We have a gravestone for one animal,” he says. “We’ll have to get another one for my poor Fred.”
    Zack and I give Becca a look of disgust. But now she’s telling