Free Chasing Secrets by Gennifer Choldenko Page A

“Whenever there’s a monkey, he’s a trickster with secrets up his sleeve. You never know if his secrets will help the good guys or the bad ones.”
    “Are there any real monkeys in Chinatown?”
    He shakes his head. “There’s a year of the monkey, but that was a while ago. This year is the year of the rat.”
    “The year of the rat. Who picks these animals?”
    He shrugs. “Somebody made a calendar a thousand years ago.”
    “Hey,” I say. “I wrote a poem. Want to see?”
    I hand him Gemma’s poem. He reads it carefully. “She thought she had rabies? That’s crazy.”
    “Yes.”
    “But you like her better than the others?”
    I suck my lip, considering.
    “You do.” He nods, then leans forward. “Have you written a poem about me?”
    “Not yet.” He wants me to write him a poem! What will I say? I get up and begin poking around his room. “What do you do in here all day?”
    “Read, mostly. Watch out the window. Sew the buttonhole strips. When Orange Tom comes up, we play a game with a ball of thread.”
    “You play with the cat?”
    “Sure. Don’t you?”
    “No. I don’t like the cat. Hey,” I whisper. “How do you…you know? We’re not allowed to use the second-floor toilet. It’s only for guests and Aunt Hortense.”
    His face turns just slightly red. “I know that.”
    “Do you sneak out at night to empty your chamber pot?”
    “No.”
    “Pour it out the window?” I stand up and slide across to the window to peek under the blind. What will the pee fall on?
    “Disgusting.”
    “Store it up?” I turn back around to sniff the air.
    “Are you always this nosey?”
    I grin at him. “Pretty much.”
    He sighs. “It’s none of your business.”
    “Well, then I’ll have to find out, won’t I?”
    “How are you going to do that? Follow me everywhere?”
    I walk around the room inspecting tea cups, bowls, a vase.
    He grins. “You don’t think I go in there, do you?”
    “You’ll have to go eventually,” I say.
    “Nope. I’m special.”
    “You know I’m going to find out.”
    He crosses his arms and juts out his chin. “You are not.”
    We both burst out laughing.
    “For a girl, you sure are pushy.”
    “But you like me. We’re friends now.” I grin at him.
    He nods, his brown eyes serious. “You know we’re notallowed to be friends. Not out there.” He points to the window.
    “We decide if we’re going to be friends. Not them,” I insist, though inside I’m not so sure. The world seems more complicated than it ever has before.

N o lights are on at the Sweeting house. Not even the rooster is out of bed yet. I creep down to the kitchen to put together a plate of fried potatoes from last night, two oranges, what’s left of the bread, and a jar of water. With a full basket, I sneak halfway up the servants’ stairs, far enough down that Maggy or Noah will not see me. Everybody in the world has to pee first thing in the morning. Noah will steal down to the second-floor bathroom, and I’ll catch him. If Maggy comes down or Aunt Hortense comes up, I’ll tell them…its backward day and I’m bringing Maggy her breakfast instead of the other way around.
    I wait so long that I doze off on the stairs, waking with a start when I hear Juliet whinny. Up above I hear the
click-flap, click-flap
of Maggy’s loose-soled boots. A door closes,then opens. I sneak up the last few stairs to see what’s happening.
    Out the hall window, the sun is rising, a bright orange ball between fluffy gray clouds. Inside, it’s just the same as it always is, except a white chamber pot is outside Maggy’s door. Is it Noah’s? Is Maggy emptying it? But Maggy doesn’t know about Noah.
    Maggy must put hers outside her door while she gets dressed, and then I’m betting Noah pours his into hers.
    I try to imagine what it’s like to have to be so careful that you can’t smack your lips, talk in your sleep, or hop out of bed. No coughing, laughing, or stepping on a creaky board. You