Free Noses Are Red by Richard Scrimger Page A

–”
    He trips, pitching forward and carrying me with him. We tumble together down a muddy gully. I end up on my back. A little stream runs down the gully, right underneath me. In fact, I am lying in the little streambed. It’s very uncomfortable.
    “You okay?” I ask Victor. He’s beside me. I shake his arm.
    He groans.
    “Yeah. Me too.”
    That’s when I hear the laughter. Peal after peal, coming from above.

The laugher stands straight and tall, silhouetted against the blue sky. A powerful hunter figure: muscles rippling, bow drawn, arrow pointing right at me. Scary and impressive at the same time. The figure looks like something out of mythology: Hercules, say. Or Thor.
    Only she’s a girl. “You are funny!” she says, lowering the bow. Her shoulder-length hair is a little darker than Thor’s – about the color of light brown toast. Her eyes flash like gems. I don’t know what kind of gems because I can’t tell exactly what color her eyes are. I never understand how the people in books always know right away what color everyone’s eyes are. I’ve known my mom all my life and all I can tell you about her eyes is that there are two of them and she puts glasses on them to read.
    “I wondered what all the noise was. I came hurrying down. But you are only boys!”
    This girl’s eyes are bright. That much I can tell, even from down in my hole.
    “Oh, hi!” I say. I recognize her. So does Victor. He’s staring up at her in a trance. His mouth opens and shuts. His lips stick out. He looks like a fish, drowning in air.
    “Remember us?” I say. “We were on the riverbank a while ago. You went past us in your canoe. You paddle really well.”
    She wears camper shorts and a T-shirt with the arms ripped off. She carries a knife as well as a quiver of arrows in her belt. Her arms and legs are tanned and muscular, and she has a rose tattooed on her calf. I can see it clearly, peeking above her work boot, because my head is just below the height of her work boot. I don’t think Thor would have a rose tattoo. Hercules, maybe. You hear a lot of stories about those Ancient Greeks….
    “Did you see me run the rapids?” she says. “Wasn’t it glorious? I’ve been trying all summer. There’re only three of us at the camp who can do it. Me and two counselors. Trixie can’t do it.” Her face darkens on the name. “She broke her canoe in half.”
    She slips the bow over her shoulder, and bends down to offer us a hand each. Large hands, with thick strong fingers. Victor’s hand trembles as he puts it in hers. She smiles fiercely and straightens up, pulling the two of us out of the gully as easily as I’d pull a couple of popsicles out of the freezer at the corner store back home.
    She’s older than I am, but not by too much. She’s a head taller and a shoulder broader. The air around her is charged, as if there’s electricity coming off her. When she breathes in, there doesn’t seem to be enough air left for me.
    “Thanks,” I say. “My name is Alan. Alan Dingwall. This is my friend Victor.”
    He makes a sound like a dog throwing up.
    “I am Zinta Zeeler!” she says. “My parents named me after the Zeletic goddess of death and destruction.”
    “Mine named me after my grandpa,” I say.
    I look around, expecting to find campers and counselors, or whoever it is she’s camping with. I see the fire, and a small tent. I don’t see any other people.
    The wind is starting to pick up. I’m aware of my wet shirt sticking to me. “Could we…dry ourselves at your fire?” I ask. “And maybe get something to eat? You don’t have any soup, or anything, do you?”
    “Come,” she says.
    I nudge Victor. “Hey, loverboy!” I say.
    He gazes over in her direction. “Doesn’t she have beautiful eyes?”
    “What color are they?”
    “Why, they’re…” He stops to think.
    I tell you, the guys who write those books are just making it up.
    The fire is roaring in the wind. I move close and hold out my