Free Under Their Skin by Margaret Peterson Haddix

stoppedbefore attacking the drifts.
    â€œMaybe Ava and Jackson just aren’t very interesting kids,” Nick suggested. “Maybe the real problem is that they’re totally boring, and that’s what Mom and Michael don’t want us to find out.”
    â€œNobody’s totally boring,” Eryn countered. “People are fascinating.”
    This was one of Mom’s lines, something she’d used on them when they were younger and complained about not liking certain kids in their class.
    They’d quickly learned not to complain about anyone. Even the boy who still picked his nose every day of third grade. Even the girl whose favorite topic for every conversation was ear wax.
    â€œMr. Cohen is boring,” Nick said. “He just stood there like, duuhhh . . .”
    Nick did an open-mouthed imitation that would have included drool if he hadn’t been afraid it would freeze on his chin.
    â€œOne should always be compassionate toward the elderly,” Eryn said loftily, imitating Mom again. “One could even argue that they are reminders to us that any one of us might someday face a battle against infirmities and disabilities and mental decline.”
    Nick snorted.
    â€œYou’re mean,” he said.
    â€œMe?” Eryn protested. “You’re the one making fun of a defenseless old man!”
    They struggled onward through the snowdrifts for a few moments in silence. The wind seemed fiercer than ever, cutting in under the hood of Nick’s coat.
    â€œDo you really think I’m mean?” Eryn asked. “Is that my true identity? Is that what Ava and Jackson might think of me?”
    How was Nick supposed to answer that?
    â€œMom says you’re not supposed to worry about what other people think of you,” he said. “The question is, what are we going to think of Ava and Jackson?”
    â€œNo, the question is, what’s the big secret about them?” Eryn asked. She stamped her foot hard, smashing a pile of fluffy snow completely flat. “And why are Mom and Michael trying so hard to keep us from finding it?”

FIFTEEN
    Lipman Park, when they reached it, was a vast, frozen wasteland of drifted snow. Eryn’s feet had been numb since back at Mr. Cohen’s, and she couldn’t understand how she could feel so cold even as she was sweating beneath her coat, sweater, and Under Armour.
    Getting to the other side of Lipman Park seemed about as practical as walking across Siberia. Or to the South Pole.
    Nick took the first step off the sidewalk, into the untouched terrain. He pulled his shovel down from his shoulder and planted the handle in the snow, like a flag.
    â€œI claim this territory for Nicholas the First of Maywoodia!” he cried out.
    Eryn quickly landed the handle end of her shovel beside his.
    â€œAnd Eryn the First of Maywoodia!” she added.
    She liked that he didn’t even bother arguing, Nunh-uh! I claimed it first! And she liked that neither one had looked around first to see if anyone was watching them. Not that anyone sane would be out in this weather to watch them.
    I bet Ava and Jackson would never pretend snow shovels are flagpoles, she thought as she and Nick picked up their shovels again.
    How could she think that when nothing in Ava’s or Jackson’s rooms had seemed much different from anything in Eryn’s or Nick’s rooms?
    Was there the slightest detail about the other kids’ rooms that had been different?
    She trudged forward, directly into the wind, for several painful steps before the answer came to her. The difference wasn’t something that had been in the other kids’ rooms—it was something missing.
    â€œNick, hey, Nick,” she said, pounding on his back. “Did you see any worthless treasures in Jackson’s or Ava’s rooms?”
    Because she had her scarf over her mouth, the question came out more like, Id oo ee a-ee