Free Under Their Skin by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page A

orth-ss . . .
    She pulled the scarf back, and the snow that had piled up on it collapsed in on her neck. She shook it off and asked her question again.
    Nick squinted back at her from beneath his ice-encrusted hood. He even had ice in the hair that poked out from underneath his knit cap.
    â€œWorthless treasures?” he repeated.
    â€œYou know, like that feather you’ve had since you were five, because you said it gave you luck in a T-ball game,” Eryn said. “Or the stone I picked up on that one picnic with Dad years ago—the one that looks like it has a ribbon of gold in it, even though everyone told me it isn’t gold. The things Mom always says are pointless to keep, and why don’t we just let her throw them out? But we never do.”
    â€œMaybe Ava and Jackson actually listen to her,” Nick said. “Or Michael told them what she’s like, and so they keep all their worthless treasures at their mom’s.”
    â€œMaybe,” Eryn said. She couldn’t let go of the sense that she’d figured out something important—a major clue. She just didn’t know why it would be important.
    They kept walking through the deep snow. Eryn tried to avoid the drifts that were high enough to spill over into her boots, but it was hard to tell when everything around her was white and frozen. Even the air felt frozen.
    â€œI put the posters back up in your room,” Nick said as they passed the tree that stood in the middle of the park.
    â€œYou did? Why?” Eryn asked.
    â€œI didn’t want Mom or Michael to have any reason tobe suspicious about anything,” Nick said. “We can’t let them see that anything’s changed.”
    Eryn guessed that he’d done that while she was still looking through Ava’s and Jackson’s rooms and he’d given up. It kind of seemed like she should be mad at him for messing with her posters without asking, but she felt grateful instead.
    â€œOkay,” she said.
    They reached the far side of Lipman Park. Eryn liked knowing she was back on paved sidewalk, no matter how icy and slick it was. Briarthorn Lane was only a few blocks away now.
    â€œYou aren’t thinking we’d knock on the door first thing, are you?” Nick asked. “I think we should scout around first and see if their mom or stepdad are home. Do they have a stepdad?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Eryn said, and it bothered her that she didn’t even know that. She shivered, and it wasn’t just because of the snow melting against her neck.
    She rewrapped her scarf and kept going.
    Briarthorn Lane, when they reached it, looked a lot like their own street: pleasant two-story houses; a tree or two in every yard; everything muffled and still, as if the blanket of snow absorbed every motion and sound.
    Eryn found herself wanting to tiptoe, which was almost impossible to do in snow boots. She started wishing her winter coat was white or cream-colored instead of bright purple. Any color that wouldn’t stand out against all the snow.
    â€œForty sixty-seven . . . forty seventy-five . . . forty eighty-three,” Nick whispered, coming to a stop in front of a Cape Cod–style house painted gray with blue trim.
    Eryn felt a tremor of panic in her stomach.
    â€œDon’t just stand there!” she complained. “Don’t be so obvious!”
    â€œIs there a nonchalant way to spy on your secret stepsiblings?” Nick asked.
    Eryn looked around. Of course nobody else was out in this weather. Pretending she was only trying to shield her face from the wind, she pulled her scarf tighter, bent her head down, and took off running toward an evergreen tree planted at the side of the house. As soon as she reached it, she dove down under the low branches.
    The branches shook, dumping snow on her and, a moment later, Nick.
    Good, she told herself. It’ll be like camouflage.
    She lifted her