Free Swear to Howdy by Wendelin Van Draanen Page A

Jenna Mae. When it does, we'll talk about privileges.”
    “But Amanda Jane's like my
sister
. You have no idea what this is doin' to me. She gets to go out and have fun, she gets to drive her very own car, she gets to—”
    “Jenna Mae, go to your room!” Mama would shout, then mutter under her breath for half an hour.
    The only time Amanda Jane and Sissy got to talk to each other was at noon-room duty. Aside from the humiliation of everyone finding out what they'd done, they were punished with trash duty for the final two weeks of school.
    Needless to say, Sissy was in a permanent bad mood.
    Now, Joey and me would've probably been in a permanent
good
mood if it wasn't for Amanda Jane's car. “It ain't fair!” Joey'd tell me when we'd see her zoomin' around. “So what if they can't return it. Least they ought to do is lock her out of it!”
    Didn't stop
us
from having fun, though. We spent time hunting for Tank. Up the river, down the river. We probably covered ground a mile past the Lee Street Bridge. Maybe two. Distances are hard to tell when you're traveling along a riverbank. There's boulders and trees and other obstacles of nature slowing you down, warping yards into miles.
    And every time we'd pass under the Lee Street Bridge, Joey'd try and scare me about the Lost Ghost, until finally I just told him, “Shut
up
, already. I ain't scared of no ghost.”
    He laughed and said, “I know you ain't, but lots of folks
is
, and I aim to keep that goin'.”
    “Why?” I asked him. “For when you bring
girls
down here?”
    “No, Rusty-boy!” But then he snapped his fingers, loud as anything.
    “What?”
    “I got an idea!”
    “What? What idea?”
    He ran back out from underneath the bridge and looked up and all around.
    “What, Joey? Whatcha thinkin'?”
    “Follow me!” he cried, and tore off under the bridge.
    When we came out the other side, he looked all around. He ran up the bank to the road, tested a tree branch that was hanging overhead, looked up and down Lee Street, then tore back down to the river, looking up, looking over… looking
everywhere
. Finally he planted himself right in front of me and gave me his loopy grin. “Rusty-boy,
we're
gonna be the Lost Ghost.”
    “Huh? How do you mean?”
    “Come on!” he said, charging up to the street. “I'll tell you on the way home!”
    That night we met up again outside Joey's back door. He had a sack of supplies and was already waiting when I arrived. “They know you're out?” he whispered.
    I shook my head. “I snuck out my window, just like you said.”
    “Stuffed your bed?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Good. Let's go!”
    We tore down to the river and over to the bridge. It was black as pitch out, too. No moon, no stars. Just thick river air and darkness.
    Lee Street was deserted. We could see the stoplight where Tank had bummed a ride home, but up Lee the other way was like a tunnel of blackness.
    “We ain't gonna spook no one if the road's deserted,” I told Joey.
    “We
want
it to be deserted while we're settin' up, Rusty-boy Come on! Let's get the rope up.”
    It wasn't exactly rope. It was more heavy string. And it took a lot of hurlin' to get it over the branch right. There we were, in the middle of the road, tossing a ball of string back and forth like it was opening day, Joey talking the whole time. “Higher, Rusty!” “Shoot! It's too far over.” “Pull it down!” “Okay, now catch!” “Shoot!”
    It took us forever to get it just where Joey wanted, and when he finally said, “That's
perfect
,” headlights came over the rise and out of the tunnel of darkness.
    We dove under the bridge, but in doin' so we pulled the string clean out of the branch. “Shoot!” Joey said when the car passed and we saw the string laying on the street like a giant noodle. “We got to start all over again!”
    This time we got it looped over the branch quicker,though, 'cause Joey decided not to be so picky. Then we ducked under the bridge and started