Free Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell

perhaps? Do you think someone is out to get you?”
    â€œSomeone just got me,” said Emmy through her teeth as she pulled the Rat off her neck with a wrench that felt like it drew blood. “And someone else”—she gave Dr. Leander a hunted look—“keeps following me.”
    She thrust the Rat into her backpack, but he wouldn’t let go.
    â€œWho keeps following you, Emmaline?” Dr. Leander kept his head down, writing as he trotted alongside. “Tell me.”
    Emmy gave him an exasperated glare. “A giant brain-sucking spider. A ten-foot-tall noodle. Write anything you want, but I’m going to gymnastics!”
    â€œTalks to self … hallucinations,” muttered the psychologist, taking notes as Emmy stalked off. “Becomes hostile when questioned ….”

    Emmy was halfway across the playground before she managed to free her hand from the Rat’s death grip. “Did you have to get hysterical?”
    â€œI was not hysterical.” The Rat had regained his dignified bearing. “I was merely reacting with the natural instinct of the hunted animal. Instinct, I might add, is something very understandable in a—”
    â€œChicken?” Emmy felt the back of her neck tenderly.
    â€œâ€”in a creature that must live by his wits and—”
    â€œFeathers?”
    â€œOh, shut up,” said the Rat grumpily. “Anyway, you’re the one who’s so troubled. Why do you go to see that guy, anyway? Been torturing frogs? Hearing voices?”
    â€œMiss Barmy makes me. You know, my nanny.”
    â€œWhatever for?”
    Emmy glanced over at the soccer game. “Oh, she says my mental health is important, and it’s just like a regular checkup at the doctor’s, or something.”
    â€œAnd you believe that?” The Rat sounded disdainful.
    â€œNot really, but I don’t care if I skip class—it’s only during silent reading, anyway.”
    â€œHey, Joe! Nice footwork!”
    Emmy walked behind the crowd on the sidelines. They were cheering, but Joe’s father was the loudest of all. He strode up and down, waving his arms.
    â€œThat’s my boy! Come on, go, go, GO!”
    Joe’s father was laughing, his face full of satisfaction, and Emmy felt a moment of pure envy. Maybe Joe’s dad did make him practice hard, like it said in the poem, but he sure was proud of his son.
    Oh, well. Her parents would be home tonight, and maybe they would be proud of her, too. She had saved all her tests, and her essay titled “Animals of India,” and her latest report card. She imagined their faces when they saw all the A’s. Should she show her schoolwork in the car? Or during quality time at home? No—maybe she’d just tie the whole packet up with a ribbon and hand it to her parents at bedtime …
    â€œNO! Follow the player, not the ball—listen, you STUPID KID!”
    Joe’s father paced. His neck was swollen, and the pride on his face had changed to dark red anger.
    Emmy didn’t want to look at Joe. Now she understood the poem he had written.
    But she had problems of her own. Through the shoulders of the crowd, she could see a man in black coming out of the school, looking around.
    Emmy’s eyes slid sideways to the belt of trees and bushes that edged the school property. She waited until the man turned away, shading his eyes. And then, like a rabbit, she bolted for the safety of the trees.
    â€œWhy did you run? Did you see the bad man again?” The Rat’s tremulous voice wafted up from her backpack as soon as she set it down.
    â€œYes,” said Emmy, crouched low behind the bushes, “but I found a place to hide.”
    â€œIt’s not dark enough,” said the Rat worriedly. “Can’t you find a nice hole somewhere?”
    Emmy peered anxiously through the leaves. Where was Professor Vole now? She turned back to see the Rat’s small,