Free Eleven by Patricia Reilly Giff Page B

fishing. Ellie must be there today to take care of the deli.
    Mack and Onji were laughing. “Your feet are so big you're mucking up the whole bottom,” Mack was saying. “The fish need glasses to see the bait.”
    What was the name of that fish Onji had talked about? M. Sam hummed the sound, smoothing most of the small roof pieces before he remembered.
Muskie.
    Sam threw the cloth over the castle and went around back to go to the deli. Mack and Onji saw him and raised their hands.
    “Catch a pickerel for dinner, Onji,” Sam called.
    “Maybe. I'll try.”
    In the deli kitchen Ellie was stirring a pot of onion soup on the huge stove. “Want a taste?”
    “I'll wait. I just want to use the computer in Onji's office. All right?”
    “Why not?” Ellie said. “Dad would say, ‘Goodbye, computer, when Sam gets his hands on it.’ ”
    “I'm sure-handed.” Sam went into the small office. He pressed the On button and moved the cursor to get to the Internet.
    Muskie.
    He whispered it, trying to sound it out. “Muskie.”
    “Are you talking to yourself back there?” Ellie called.
    “Listen and learn,” Sam called back. One of Mrs. Stanek's favorite things to say.
    But Ellie was singing, something about ants going up a hill, while she rattled around in drawers.
    Sam tried the word with an
a, maskie
, then an
e, meskie
, and ano,
moskie.
    It was when he spelled it with a
u
that the printing came up, filling the screen. Small print, line after line of it, shape after shape. He felt the impossibility of it, anger bursting in his chest. It was right there in front of him, but he couldn't read it. Some of it, of course,
cold water, game fish
, but as for the rest—
    If only he could read.
    He must have said something aloud, made some kind of sound, because he heard Ellie say, “Sam?” and her heavy footsteps came around the kitchen table toward the computer room.
    Sam reached out to hit the Escape button but missed, hitting one of the letter keys, and then she was looking over his shoulder and pointing. “Ah, it's the Thousand Islands.”
    He sat entirely still.
    Her fingers went to the screen, to the map in the right-hand corner. “Here's where Dad and Mack grew up, and me, too. Where the Iroquois lived. The St. Lawrence River.”
    His throat was too thick for him to say anything.
    “Remember the legend of the masks?”
    “All of them different, but with crooked noses—” He swallowed, found his voice: “—to honor the giant who chased the Spirit of Sickness away.”
    “And the other one, of course.”
    “The Thousand Islands,” he said.
    “Yup,” Ellie said. “Right there in the St. Lawrence River.”
    There between his own state, New York, and Canada.
    He pressed the Escape button, and all of it disappeared.
    “How about a sandwich?” Ellie asked. “A hero, maybe, or some chicken parm? Some of the soup?”
    He shook his head. “No, thanks, I have to get back.” He turned and gave her a hug.
    “What's that for?” she asked, smiling.
    “That's for nothing.” He went back to the woodworking room and saw Caroline's green notebook on top of his table.
    He flipped it open to the back, seeing the list Caroline had written, and the paper with his words: I WAS
THER.
    It needed an
e, there.
Yes. He'd been there. He added J
000 ilands…
something wrong with that, but never mind. And
St. L.
    He closed his eyes. He saw Mack sailing under a bridgethat he felt sure must be there, white sails, a double mast. He pictured the huge fish underneath like gray shadows, the muskies.
    And not far from there must be the place where the woman had given his boat away, the place that terrified him, the Children's Home.

Sam's Dream
    People yelling. Angry. Screaming.
    The woman.
    A man.
    Doors banging.
    His door was next.

17
Leaving
    It was so hot that Mrs. Stanek threw up her hands after collecting lunch money. “Let's go outside and have an extra recess, before I melt away.”
    Eric ran to the closet for the bag of