Free Small as an Elephant by Jennifer Richard Jacobson Page B

beginning to see the spiderweb that his mother was talking about: Mrs. Olson used her garden to connect to the food pantry, and now he was one of the strands that helped make that web stronger.
    He wished there was a way he could ask for food for himself. But even food pantries had their rules. He’d watched people fill out forms or sign in. The pantry staff would have to know something about him. He couldn’t give them facts, and he didn’t think he was clever enough to lie — not to fool these people. An eleven-year-old kid coming in for food? That was just the sort of thing that would put them on his trail.
    But maybe he could suggest something extra. Something they wouldn’t have put in the bag otherwise. Something for him.
    “There,” said the guy, putting the dried milk on top.
    “Hey,” said Jack, the words practically catching in his throat. “Do you think she would like some cereal bars?”
    The man smiled. “Well,” he said, “I wouldn’t have thought . . . but who knows?”
    Jack began to reach for his favorite strawberry brand.
    “But let’s choose those over there. They’re more nutritious.”
    The day had grown hot — or at least it seemed so to Jack, who was carrying an incredibly heavy bag back to Mrs. Olson’s farm. The cans were forever rolling around in the bag, shifting the weight from one side to the other. Twice, the netted bag had caught on his broken finger, causing pain to pulse right up through his arm. He had to stop every five minutes or so to rest. He wished Mrs. Olson had given him a wheelbarrow or something. He was tempted to break into the cereal bars, but, knowing how long the trip back home would take him, he vowed to be careful with food. He would wait until he was back at the farm.
    He couldn’t wait to see Mrs. Olson’s face when he gave her this bag. He felt like Santa delivering a sack of presents. But before going to her door, he snuck into the barn. He dropped the bag and grabbed the box of cereal bars, then climbed into the loft. There he devoured one bar in four bites. A few crumbs remained in the package. He remembered an elephant his mom once told him about, who was captive but each day put aside a little of his grain for a mouse to eat. Jack made a little mound with the crumbs on the spot where he had slept.
    He dumped the five remaining bars into his backpack, hid the cardboard box under the wooden table, and placed the toy elephant securely in his pocket.
    On Mrs. Olson’s doorstep was his bag of vegetables, with a little note that said
Thank you.
Jack rang her doorbell, eager to show her all he had brought, but she didn’t answer. Maybe she wasn’t home, but he suspected otherwise. He suspected it was something else that kept her from opening the door. A kind of pride, maybe.
    Jack picked up his vegetables, threw on his backpack, and started his 248-mile walk home.

As the bus traveled to the mainland, Jack read the schedule and tried to decide on the best place to get off. The farthest point the bus traveled to was the IGA in Trenton. He was pretty sure the IGA was a supermarket; he and his mother had gone to one in Mattapan. He remembered because they had tried to guess what the letters in the name stood for:
    I NTERESTING G REEN A PPLES
I NTERNATIONAL G RAPES A VAILABLE
I SLAND G ROCERIES A LWAYS
    I RATE G RUMPY A SSOCIATES
I NCREDIBLE G RAINS A DVERTISED
I MPERIAL G RAY A SPHALT
    Every idea was unbelievably stupid, but they had had fun just the same.
    So, he could get off at the IGA, but he suspected it would be in a pretty populated area, and he would need to find a place to camp out. The bus wouldn’t arrive until about four; it was dark these days by seven — kind of late to begin walking south. Plus, he was tired from all the trips he’d already taken between Mrs. Olson’s farm and Bar Harbor.
    The stop before the IGA was a campground called Narrows Too. Jack didn’t have money for a campsite, but he figured a campground would be closer