Free Whistling In the Dark by Lesley Kagen Page A

out of my hand and stuck it in her mouth before I could stop her.
    “Troo!”
    She grinned and said with her mouth full, “Remember how Junie was found over by the lagoon?”
    I didn’t answer because I was mad. I’d been really looking forward to the rest of that peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.
    “Maybe that same guy who took Junie took Sara,” Troo said, fingering my braid, which was her way of saying sorry. “If we could find Sara’s body, we’d probably get a reward and our pictures in the newspaper like Mary Lane did when she called in that fire she set.”
    “It’s Rasmussen, Troo. Rasmussen is that guy.” I brushed her hand away, worn out with her not believing me.
    A couple of other people had come for Sampson’s two o’clock feeding. Two ladies with little kids I didn’t know. And also Artie Latour, who was one of Wendy’s brothers. Artie was two years older than me and was a really goofy tall guy with an Adam’s apple that was so big all you could do was stare at his skinny neck when he talked to you, getting hypnotized by this thing moving up and down like the grain elevator out at the farm. Artie also had a harelip from when he was born. Not too much else to keep in mind about him except he walked with his toes pointed in.
    Troo hopped down from the tree after me and started over to where Artie was standing in front of Sampson’s cage, which wasn’t really a cage at all. In the winter Sampson stayed in his cage in the monkey house. (Heartbreak ing.) But in the summer, he liked to be outside where there were big orange boulders and a little pool of water and some shade off to the side where he could get out of the heat and eat his lunch in peace.
    “Artie,” Troo called over to him.
    Probably he didn’t answer because one of his older brothers, Reese, was the biggest bully in the whole world. Reese was always picking on Artie and had given him a good whack on the side of the head at the playground last year after he lost to Artie in Battleship. His ear swelled up to the size of a peach and now Artie didn’t hear so hot sometimes.
    “Artiiieee,” Troo screamed.
    He jumped away from the black iron railing. When he saw who it was, his face turned the same color as an orang utan’s butt. Artie had what Fast Susie called “the hots” for Troo.
    “Wendy okay?” I asked, coming up next to him.
    Artie shrugged. “She got some stitches.” He was such a good brother to Wendy, not like Reese, who always called her the idiot. Reese Latour would go to hell eventually, on this I would bet a million dollars.
    Sampson was eating a banana, not singing while he ate, showing a lot better manners than those Latour boys. Troo had snuck us in for supper a couple of nights ago with the help of Mimi Latour, who was in the same grade as Troo. The Latours were having something called slumgoodie, which was in this big glass bowl and couldn’t hold a candle to Mother’s tuna noodle casserole. There was also a big stack of Wonder Bread and oleo and powdered milk to drink that tasted so much like I imagined melted chalk would. Reese Latour stared at Troo the entire supper, smiling at her like she was a piece of cherry cobbler.
    Artie asked, like he didn’t care at all, “What’re you doing for the Fourth of July, Troo?”
    The man who was feeding Sampson was Mary Lane’s father. I thought he should take some of that food home and feed it to Mary Lane so she wouldn’t be the skinniest darn kid in the world anymore.
    Troo said, “The Fourth? Why, Sally and me wouldn’t miss the bicycle parade for all the tea in China.” She winked at him and Artie’s Adam’s apple gave his gum a little ride down his throat, he got so flusterated. He’d come in second last year to Troo in the bike-decorating contest and had won a subscription to a magazine called Boys’ Life . Troo had won a new set of streamers for her bike and a five-dollar certificate to the Five and Dime since the bike-decorating contest was