Free True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan Page A

truths.
    â€œOkay, here’s the real truth. I saw you at school with those animals, and it was something. Then I followed you here and watched you play, and you were awesome. So when Ms. Gerwitz picked me, I picked you—because I knew, with you on the team, all us losers could be winners for once.
    â€œBut then you just stood there. I didn’t mean to touch you; I just wanted to know what happened.”
    The curtain pulled back some more.
    â€œOkay, here’s the real, real truth,” Delly rasped. “If I do one more bad thing, they’ll kick me out of school. I don’t care what happens to me”—the rasp cracked—“but I can’t make my ma cry again. That’s why I need to talk to you.”
    The curtains closed.
    Delly’s chin fell to her chest. “Chizzle,” she mumbled.
    The mail slot in the door creaked open. A small piece of paper slipped through it and fluttered to Delly’s feet.
    She picked it up. Big, dark letters told her, No Yelling. No Touch.
    Delly got too excited. “Okay, Ferris Boyd!” she shouted, “I won’t—” and stopped herself. “I won’t yell,” she whispered.
    The door opened a crack.
    â€œAnd I won’t touch you,” she murmured.
    It opened some more.
    â€œHey, Ferris Boyd.” Delly just breathed it.
    The girl stepped onto the stoop. She sat down, facing the trees.
    Then there was one more truth Delly had to tell. “Ferris Boyd,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
    The girl just stared ahead.
    Now, Delly Pattison didn’t like apologizing. She had a hard time doing it and getting nothing back. She was about to ask, loudly, Hey, did you hear me? I said, Sorry.
    And that black cat ran across the yard. It set itself between them. “Mowr,” it growled, with all its claws sticking out.
    So Delly kept quiet, while the three of them sat.
    At first it was almost as bad as counting, sitting there like that.
    But Delly could hear the creatures all around them. She watched Ferris Boyd’s back rise and fall with her breaths. She felt the breeze on her face.
    The cat stretched out and put its front feet against her.
    Bawlgram cat, she thought, but she didn’t move.
    Then it wasn’t so bad, just sitting. It felt good not being alone.
    The whistle blew. “Shikes,” Delly whispered, “I got to go.” She stood up.
    She sat down again.
    â€œFerris Boyd,” she said, eyeing the cat’s claws, “I just got to know—how come you didn’t take the ball and shoot?”
    The girl stayed still.
    This time, Delly didn’t push it. “Okay,” she said softly.
    As she got up to leave, though, Ferris Boyd pulled a pad and pen from her pocket. She wrote something, set the paper on the stoop, and walked into the house.
    Delly snatched the note quick, before the cat could claw her.
    She sprinted all the way home. Sitting beside her bed, she opened it.
    You didn’t ask, it told her.
    She was silent for a second.
    Then her mouth exploded. With laughter. “Ask,” she whooped. “Ferris Boyd, I don’t ask to do anything.”
    She held the note in front of her, chuckling at it. “You don’t ask to do stuff. You just do it and then . . . and then . . .”
    She wasn’t laughing anymore. “Then there’s trouble,” she mumbled.
    Delly lay down on her bed. She thought about every time she’d gotten in trouble: the chickens, the canoe, the holiDelly days. They were all different, but they ended the same—with her deep in it. “Started the same, too,” she rasped. “I didn’t ask.
    â€œBut I hate asking,” she grumbled. “If you ask, they say no. They never let you do anything.”
    She put the note in her left pants pocket. It was just paper, but she could feel it pressing on her. “Huh,” she said.
    â€œHuh,” she kept saying, through dinner and while