Free Going Where It's Dark by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Page A

Hole. He couldn’t keep away any longer. He told himself that all he wanted to do was make sure he could still find it.
    Mel was sound asleep on the sofa, glad for some time off before his next run, and Katie had gotten off the bus a few stops earlier with one of her friends. Buck could get to the old Wilmer place and be home again well before dinner.
    He left his backpack by the stairs so everyone would know he’d been there, and climbed on his bike.
    Early June was a nice time in the valley, with the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond your backyard. Not yet too humid, the way it got in D.C., not as hot as North Carolina. The birds were going crazy, challenging each other’s territory, and the air was sweet with their songs and the scent of honeysuckle.
    As he neared the place, Buck had a momentary wave of panic because there were several fences that reached as far down as the road. Did he really remember which one he had followed before? But then he saw the edge of the woods coming closer and, more sure of himself now, he wheeled his bike off the shoulder, down into the gulley and up again, and left it beneath a gooseberry bush along the barbed wire fence that sagged in places and was completely down in others.
    He tramped through the weeds, avoiding the nettles that sprang up here and there, and as he came close to the trees, he began counting the heaps of rock that spilled out into the pasture—the first, then the second, watching for the place where the ground dipped next to the tree line, the little heap of fox or dog bones. Yes, there they were, and his heart pounded with excitement when—there it was—just as before, the Hole, almost invisible.
    Buck crouched on the rocks, feeling the cold draft coming up out of the earth, and pulled back the grass that hung heavy and wet over the entrance. Yes, the sides of the Hole inside were wet and sticky, and he knew that if he were to climb in there in the next few days, he would be covered with mud.
    Now there was still another factor to consider. Not only would he need more equipment to go exploring again, not only did he need a full day, with everyone in the family gone so they wouldn’t miss him, but it had to be a time the earth had a chance to dry out a little. An unexpected rain could ruin everything, no matter how well he planned the rest.
    The important thing, though—it was still here. Still his. Once again he found himself smiling. Then he stood up and retraced his steps, back along the tree line to the road.
    He was just wheeling his bike up out of the ditch when a car came around the curve ahead of him, and he stood there waiting till it passed.
    There were two people in the front seat, and as it sped by, Buck saw that it was Ethan Holt and his dad. Ethan’s face had a look of surprise as they passed, and then the car was gone.
    •••
    Here it was: last day of seventh grade. And the worst.
    In civics, Miss Gordon had a game. She was a young teacher in her second year, and near the end of class, she smiled as she handed a sheet of paper to each person in the front seats. Few teachers expected any serious learning to take place the day before summer vacation began, and often had something fun to do.
    “There are six quotations on each sheet, and each sheet is different,” she explained. “These are famous quotations on all sorts of subjects. Each person in the front seats will read their first quotation aloud and see who in the class can guess who said it. Then you’ll pass the papers to the person behind you, and they’ll do the same. We’ll see how many we can guess before class is over.”
    Buck, in the third seat from the front, wished with all his heart that he had taken the back row when he came in. Instead, he had followed Nat, taking a seat just behind him, and now he mentally calculated how long it would take before the sheet in their row got back to him. Each class was forty minutes long. Five rows, with four people per row…
    He and Nat had