Free The Water and the Wild by Katie Elise Ormsbee Page B

Lottie’s nose.
    â€œAre you a robber?” asked the boy. Then he stuck his tongue out at Lottie. Though he wasn’t exactly sticking his tongue out
at
her; he was just sticking his tongue
out,
as if he expected to catch a falling snowflake upon it.
    â€œI’m not a robber,” Lottie said.
    â€œThat’s good news. Always a smart idea to check. Nice to meet you, then.” He clapped his hands and then offered one of them to Lottie. When she didn’t take it, his eyes darted between his hand and her face. “Oh. I see you’ve met Ollie.”
    â€œHow do you know Oliver?”
    â€œHe’s my best friend,” said the boy, jolting up so that he was squatting on the balls of his feet. “Anyway, you haven’t met
me
. I’m Fife Dulcet.”
    â€œLottie Fiske.”
    Lottie wondered straightaway if that had been wise to say.
She
might not be a robber, but who was to say that this boy wasn’t one—or something worse? Mrs. Yates had taught her not to give her name to strangers. But then,Lottie had been doing a lot of things lately of which Mrs. Yates would not approve.
    Fife, in the meantime, had fallen onto his backside. He let out a low, wondering whistle.
    â€œA
Fiske
!” he cried. “From Earth!”
    â€œI’m from New Kemble,” Lottie tried to explain.
    Fife didn’t seem to be listening. He leapt over Lottie and jiggled the door handle.
    â€œWhat’s this?” he asked. “Who’s locked you in?”
    â€œAdelaide,” grumbled Lottie, wiping sleep from her eyes and stumbling to her feet.
    Fife guffawed.
“Ah-del-aide,”
he said in an upper-crust drawl. “So you’ve met her, too.”
    â€œYes, and I wish I hadn’t,” said Lottie. “She’s awful.”
    â€œYou’re not alone in that sentiment, Lottie Fiske,” Fife said, patting her on the back. “Ada’s a few airs short of a charmer.”
    â€œShe called me unrefined.”
    â€œOh, she calls me that all the time,” Fife said with a dismissive wave. “Consider yourself in good company.”
    â€œDoes she criticize your clothes, too?”
    â€œConstantly,” Fife said, looking around the room and settling his sights on the window. “There are a few rules tokeep in mind when you come to play at the Wilfers: (a) Don’t roughhouse with Ollie, and (b) Don’t take anything Adelaide says personally. Simple as that.” He frowned in contemplation. “Well, I might add (c) Don’t ever combine beet root with pure extract of wishful thinking. It might cure a headache, but it gives you some ghastly bloating.”
    â€œOh.” Lottie nodded uncertainly.
    â€œMm. Well, enough of that. I bet you’re itching with cabin fever. Lucky for you, I’ve got us an escape route.”
    He pointed to the open window.
    â€œWhat?” Lottie shook her head. “Oh no. No,
no
. I’ve had enough of going out windows.”
    â€œTush,” said Fife. “I’m sure it’s just that you haven’t done it properly. Not like
this
.”
    Fife ran toward the window and leapt right out of the room and out of sight.
    Lottie shrieked. She dashed to the ledge, afraid that she was going to find little bits of Fife scattered all over the garden path below. Instead, she bonked foreheads with the boy, who was hovering cross-legged just beneath the windowsill.
    â€œOw.” Lottie rubbed her head. Then her stomach rumbled, and she remembered that she hadn’t had supper last night.
    The window didn’t look quite so bad as it had before. Fife was smiling at her, and she ventured a smile back.
    â€œJudging from your awed reaction,” said Fife, “I’m guessing Ada didn’t do anything like
that
.”
    â€œNo,” Lottie said. “We climbed down a tree in Thirsby Square.”
    â€œWhat?” cried Fife. “Climbed down a tree with your bare