Free Jumping the Scratch by Sarah Weeks Page A

cans,and the noise would wake me up, so I’d have time to get away.
    Finding no dents in the cherry can that day out in the school yard, I clamped the opener onto the lip and started to crank. I held it tightly between my knees as I worked the opener slowly all the way around the lid until it came loose and dropped down half an inch to settle on top of the cherries like a floating raft. Using my pointer finger, I placed a little pressure on one side of the lid. I had just slid my thumbnail under to pull the edge up and lift out the sharp metal circle when Audrey Krouch showed up.
    â€œHey,” she said, “pretty quick thinking before about the squished fingers, huh?”
    â€œYou didn’t have to do that,” I told her.
    â€œI know. I just figured I’d save you from getting bawled out twice in one day,” she said, sitting down on the bench beside me.
    I looked nervously across the playground to the basketball courts, where Larry Baywood was hanging out, shooting baskets with his friends.
    â€œI usually eat alone,” I said, hoping Audrey would take the hint and leave.
    â€œI know,” she said. Then she opened her lunchbox and pulled out a bag of chips, which she ripped open using her teeth.
    â€œHow come you didn’t write a description?” she asked.
    I shrugged.
    â€œI couldn’t think of anything to describe.”
    â€œLiar,” she said, taking a chip from the bag and putting the whole thing in her mouth before biting down. She finished chewing and licked the salt off her fingers. “You were thinking about something. You just weren’t writing it down.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked uneasily.
    â€œI wasn’t reading your mind, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
    â€œThen how do you know I was thinking about something?” I asked again.
    â€œâ€™Cause your lips were moving,” she said.
    I put my hand up to my mouth. “They were?”
    She nodded and ate another chip. “They always move when you think,” she said. “And when you read, too.”
    â€œSo?” I said defensively.
    â€œSo nothing. I’m just saying your lips move, that’s all.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t go around trying to read people’sminds or their lips either,” I said.
    â€œIt’s a free country,” said Audrey.
    â€œYou say that too much,” I told her.
    â€œYeah, well, you’re not exactly perfect yourself, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    Â 
    I missed the bus that afternoon after school. I’d gone to the library to return some books and to see if there was a copy of Losing Perfect I could check out. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to read it. Arthur had been such a jerk, maybe I was hoping I’d find out it wasn’t as good as it had seemed when he’d read it to us in class.
    â€œI’m afraid one of your classmates was in here during lunch today and checked out the only copy we had,” the librarian told me.
    â€œWho?” I asked, even though I was sure I already knew.
    â€œMary Lynne Pierce,” she said. “I believe she mentioned something about doing a book report for extra credit. Perhaps you could ask her to let you know when she’s finished with it.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I said, remembering what Audrey had told me about the wart on Mary Lynne’s finger. I didn’t know if you could catch warts fromtouching pages in a book or not.
    I picked out about a dozen books, some by writers I already knew I liked, others based on the descriptions on the backs of the books or the pictures on the front. I got so caught up, I lost track of the time, and when I finally finished checking out my books, the bus was gone. Wondrous Acres was a long way from school. Much too far to walk.
    I tried to go back inside so I could call home. I knew my mother wouldn’t appreciate being woken up, but the only other alternative was