Free The Sleepover by Jen Malone Page A

to our school last spring because he’d forgotten to study for a test.”
    Paige says, “I heard he has a fifth grader make his lunch and drop it off on his porch every morning.”
    I nod. “I heard that one too. And last year the pool turned fluorescent orange at the start of a swim meet, and someone said they saw Jake leaving school right before that.”
    I sigh. He really is danger personified. And I . . . am pretty much the opposite. So what if he’s gorgeous, with this kind of blue-black hair that falls across his face and bright blue eyes that have actual soul to them?
    Veronica shrugs. “Fuzzy from Get Fuzzy likes to say, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’ Anyway, whoever he is, you’re wearing his sweatshirt, so obviously he saw us at some point last night. Let’s find out when!”
    I hate that she makes total sense. She reaches up and presses the doorbell. I shiver (I try to tell myself that’s it’s just from the cool air), and even nothing-phases-me Paige picks at her cuticles while looking everywhere but at the front door.
    A gong echoes inside the house. It’s a pretty normal house for such a mysterious guy. There’s a narrow window to the side of the entrance, and through it I can see a long carpet runner leading to the back of the house, plus a staircase going upstairs. There’s an entry table holding a bowl to toss keys into, and a lamp with a sunflower pattern on the shade.
    No one comes.
    Veronica taps out two long and one short ding on the bell and steps back. Inside, it’s still nothing but dark and silence. “Whelp. They’re not home,” she says, hopping off the porch.
    Paige and I share a look that’s equal parts disappointment and relief. I really was not prepared for Jake Ribano. We follow Veronica along the shrubs dividing the two yards and slink back through Anna Marie’s basement door.
    â€œWhat now?”
    â€œI bet the chicks need some food,” Veronica says. “Do you think they’d like Doritos?”
    â€œUm . . . probably not,” Paige answers, slipping her phone from her pocket. “I’ll google it and see what they do eat. We probably should take care of them while we think of what to do next.”
    My stomach growls. I personally wouldn’t say no to some Doritos. Are there any left? I hunt through the total disaster of a basement until I discover our food stash from last night. There are only crumbs in the Doritos bag, but the bowl ofpopped popcorn that had Paige’s phone only has a tiny bit of Silly String in it now. I also find a bag of Chips Ahoy!—breakfast of champions. I bring both with me for sharing as I follow Veronica into the bathroom. The chicks are all huddled by the drain in the empty tub.
    â€œOh gross. They’ve pooped all over.”
    â€œIt’s a natural human biological function,” Veronica says.
    â€œTrue. Even if they’re chicks, not humans,” I reply.
    â€œActually, guys, these aren’t chicks. They’re ducklings,” Paige says, coming into the bathroom with her cell phone in hand. “Look at their feet.” We peer at them.
    We’re concentrating on the inside of the bathtub when a noise sounds right behind us.
    Squeak!
    We all stand up and spin around, trying to see where it’s coming from.
    Squeak!
    With my heart in my throat, I peek behind the toilet and exhale. “Oh! Look!”
    I cup my hand, and a tiny ducking waddles into it. Its little webbed feet tickle my palm. He’s soooooo sweet. I want to keep him forever. Finally something about this morning that isn’t horrible.
    â€œGuys, he’s so cute! Look, he’s got black feathers instead of yellow! I bet he’s been stuck there all morning. I definitelydidn’t see him when I counted earlier—that makes seventeen. How did you get out of the tub, little guy?”
    Paige stares at him