Free Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff

Steadman that he can always get another dog, notone that froths at the mouth and turns backflips over people’s feet.
    I turn to Steadman. “We’re going to find Fred, don’t you worry.”
    â€œI’m really worried,” Steadman says.
    I’m really worried, too. But as soon as we reseed the lawn, we’ll be hot on the trail of the Gussie’s Gym bag. How many people could have those bags? Five? Six?
    Along with William?
    We’re sure to track Fred down.
    I pat Steadman’s shoulder as Zack and I head for the hose around the side of the house. It’s all in a mess of plastic loops, spurting water from a dozen leaky places. We hold the end over our heads, but almost nothing drips out of the nozzle.
    But now another problem. Sister Appolonia is coming down the street, like a battleship pulling out of the harbor, all engines blasting.
    There’s not even time to disappear.
    She stops. “Congratulations on the new baby,” she tells Pop. She looks at the lawn. “A problem.” She glances at us. “Good thing you have plenty of help.”
    â€œIt’s the help that ruins everything,” Pop says.
    From the corner of my eye, I see movement across the street. It’s the used-to-be kidnapper’s accomplice. He’s hanging over the junk-o car engine, its innards spread over the driveway, peering out at us.
    But what is Sister Appolonia saying? Something about books, of course.
    Pop is nodding.
    â€œI guess you haven’t seen a book in their hands all summer,” she says.
    â€œTheir books are all over the place,” Pop tells her. “Eight or nine, at least. I fell over a pile this morning.”
    Sister looks surprised, more than surprised. She looks shocked.
    Zack and I give each other invisible high fives.
    Still looking at the kid across the street, Sister says, “Then I have very good news for you. Gussie’s Gym is giving bags out all over town so kids can carry their books to school.” She nods. “A generous woman. She’s giving them to the parents, too.”
    Forget the high fives.
    We now have about a hundred suspects!
    And if that isn’t enough, Sister Appolonia puts her hands on our shoulders. “Please plan to spend the day with me tomorrow. I need last-minute help. We can talk about all you’ve read while we get things going in the classroom.”
    I can’t believe it. There’s no peace in the whole world. Even Doomsday is moving up. We might as well throw ourselves back into the mud pond that doesn’t even cover our heads.

Chapter 20
    We’re on our way to Gussie’s Gym, mushing ourselves along, every muscle pulsing from working on Pop’s lawn—actually, Pop’s dirt; there’s no lawn left.
    The job isn’t finished. We’ve just left Pop banging things all over his toolshed, searching for the bag of grass seed. We could tell him it’s gone. We thought it would be perfect for worm farm food, but no, Yulefski told us worms aren’t crazy about grass seed. And then a stiff breeze came along. Seeds flew all over the neighborhood, probably stopping to grow at every house but ours.
    But why upset Pop with that news? We’ll buy him tons of grass seed as soon as we get money for our birthday next year.
    We pass the bottom of Suicide Hill. My head is almost worn out, too tired to crane it back to see the top. I don’t have to look, anyway. It’s implanted in my brain, a mile high, at least, all cement; it shoots almost straight down to the other side of the railroad station.
    You’d have to be crazy to try it.
    High up, someone is skateboarding down now, zigzagging back and forth, speeding along at a hundred miles an hour, ready to kill himself. I can’t help watching.
    A helmet covers his head; his arms are curved up and out for balance, his dark hair streaming out in back. He’s screeching something at us.
    Not a guy after