Free Not-Just-Anybody Family by Betsy Byars Page B

ready to go back to the desk when he noticed something weird in the last cell. What in the—Take a look at that!
    The old man’s foot was on his arm. How did he manage that?
    The policeman walked closer, his ham and fried egg sandwich forgotten in his hand. The only explanation he could think of was that the old man was some sort of contortionist, like the Living Pretzel whom the policeman had once seen in a sideshow.
    But wait! What in the—Would you take a look at that!
    There was a leg attached to the foot. It was a small leg. Too small.
    The officer had been a member of the police force for twenty years but he had never seen anything like this. He walked closer. He saw now that the leg went under the blanket where there was a large bump. Coming out of the top of the bump was a lot of rumpled sandy-colored hair.
    The officer unlocked the cell without making a sound. He entered. He pulled back the blanket so carefully, the sleepers never even felt it. He looked at Vern. He looked up at the open vent.
    He closed his eyes, shook his head, and a half smile came over his face. Well, we’ve had a jailbreak , he said to himself. He laid the blanket gently back over the sleeping boy.
    He went to the sergeant’s desk. He shook his head. “You ain’t going to believe this,” he said.
    Mud was hungry, and it was the first time in his life he had ever had to worry about food. His diet had always been simple. Whatever Pap ate, he ate. If Pap ate pancakes with syrup on them, he ate pancakes with syrup on them. If Pap ate stew, he ate stew.
    Mud was moving into the downtown section of the city now, and the houses were close together. There were no nice lawns, no side yards. There weren’t any swimming pools or fine shrubbery either.
    At one of the houses Mud paused. He smelled something of interest—a fishy smell. He lifted his nose, trying to find out where the smell was coming from.
    Mud was fond of fish. Sometimes when Pap caught a fish in the creek, he would put it in a bucket of creek water and let Mud recatch it.
    It was like bobbing for apples. Mud would thrust his whole head into the water, scramble around till he felt the fish in his mouth. Then he would come up.
    Pap’s laugh was Mud’s reward, that and a piece of fried fish later. Mud held these fish in his mouth so gently, there was never a tooth mark on them.
    Mud crossed the street. The smell seemed to be coming from this house … from this porch. Mud went up the steps. From this dish on this railing. Mud stood up and looked into the dish.
    Mud was a good stander. He could even take a few steps on his hind legs when it was necessary. Mostly he stood up so he could get a better look at something.
    It worked. Mud could see that the dish contained a ring of dark food, sort of smashed down into the bottom. He propped one foot on the banister and took the dish in his teeth. He set it down on the floor without a sound.
    Mud took one small bite of the fish stuff. The taste was nothing like Pap’s fish, and he stood looking at the dish with his brow drawn into wrinkles. He took a second bite.
    This was the worst food Mud had ever had in his entire life. It was barely edible. If he hadn’t been absolutely starved …
    Mud finished the cat food, went down the steps, and was once again on his way through the dark streets of Alderson.
    Ralphie opened his eyes and saw Maggie sitting cross-legged on the foot of Junior’s bed. Her green eyes were shining; one of her braids lay on her tanned shoulder, she was chewing on the other in her excitement. Her cheeks were pink. She was grinning. She had one jagged tooth.
    Even if she had not been telling the story of how she and Vern had busted into jail, Ralphie would have fallen in love with her. His heart was pumping hard, like the machines he’d seen occasionally through the doors of Intensive Care.
    “You busted into jail?” Ralphie asked. He worked his way up in bed until he was sitting. He hadn’t even bothered to push