Read Online The Secret of Ferrell Savage by J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian - Free Book Online Page B

her. Was I sad that she didn’t come? Did I miss her? No way. Not one bit. In fact, I started to wonder why her mother made her come over, anyway. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take care of herself when she was alone at her own house.
    On Monday morning I started to put on my semi-new Converse and thought of Mary’s and my squeezey friendship. But as I slid my feet into the shoes, I realized our relationship wasn’t changing. She was just as bossy as ever. I pulled off the shoes and threw them to the back of my closet, next to my old, well-worn, and too-small Converse. I couldn’t wear either pair. The last thing I wanted was to look at my feet and be reminded of Mary.
    I searched the bottom of my closet and consideredmy other options. I had my snow boots, but the wool lining made my feet sweat in school. That left me with my golf shoes. Dad had bought me a pair, hoping I’d take up golf with him, but it didn’t happen. I kept getting distracted, and instead of hitting the ball, I’d dig up a clump of dirt next to the ball and send it flying. We quit playing because Dad was afraid that after I put so many holes in the course, the manager was going to make us pay for repairs.
    I picked up the shoes. They were bright white on top, and underneath they had shiny, sharp Big Bertha Spikes, like the teeth of a shark. Perfect. Nobody was going to bother me with these on my feet.
    I went downstairs, trying not to stomp and click in my shoes. Mom was in the kitchen, pouring hot water into the coffee press.
    â€œFerrell, honey? You don’t look like your usual self this morning,” she said.
    â€œI’m not sick,” I grumbled. I grabbed the orange juice from the fridge.
    â€œNo, I didn’t mean that you look sick,” she said. She handed me a glass for my juice, then smoothed out the back of my hair. “You’re just not soft and sweet like you usually are.”
    I was done with soft and sweet.
    â€œIs something going on with you? Are you all right?” she asked.
    â€œI’m just dandy,” I said, thinking “dandy” would sound cooler than it did.
    â€œWell, all righty, then,” she said. “So, what would you like for breakfast, Mr. Dandy?”
    â€œDon’t call me that,” I said.
    I sat down, and Mom put a box of Frosted Grainios in front of me. She shook her head and said, “Looks like someone’s in a—what did Coby tell you it was?—a middle-school funk.”
    â€œBoys don’t funk.”
    â€œOf course they do. Growing up is painful and difficult. You start caring about things you didn’t used to care about. Grades, girls, your clothes.”
    â€œCare about my clothes? That’ll never happen,” I said, hiding my feet under my chair. Man, I really hoped I wasn’t going to start caring about grades now too. What a time suck. And girls? I was already through with that phase, thank you very much.
    â€œHey, Mom? How would you feel if everyone knew we were related to Alferd Packer?”
    She shuddered at the mention of his name. Then she said, “I don’t care what people think or know about us. My biggest concern has been toprotect you from feeling afraid. Afraid of yourself.”
    I wondered if she wanted to eat meat the same way I did, and maybe she was afraid she would suddenly start eating her friends and family too. “He may not have been a monster, though,” I said. And then I told her what I knew was true. “You’re definitely not a monster, Mom.”
    â€œThanks, Ferrell,” she said.
    At school I stood at my locker, looking for my science homework, which was due in three and a half minutes and wasn’t even close to finished.
    â€œSo have you told him yet?” Mary’s voice came from right next to my ear, but I refused to look at her.
    â€œI never told you I was going to race. What makes you think I am?” I snapped.
    â€œWell, you