Free The Secret of Ferrell Savage by J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian Page B

are overrated. But before I could get the words out, he said, “You will meet me at Specter Slope on Saturday at ten o’clock, or I tell everyone that your great-great-great-uncle ate Mary’s—”
    â€œOkay.” There was no talking him down. “I’ll be there.”

Chapter Sixteen
    WHEN I GOT HOME FROM school, the Pollypry was leaning against the wall in the mudroom at the back door.
    â€œI found it on the front porch,” Mom said. She sat at the kitchen table writing up a grocery list. “There was a note that said ‘Good luck,’ and then in small letters at the bottom it said ‘Eat this note after you read it.’ Well, I didn’t eat the note, but if you’d like to, it’s on the counter.” Then she smiled at me and said, “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
    â€œYes,” I said. It was nice having a mom whodidn’t pry into my business. Being honest with her came much easier that way.
    â€œDo you want to talk about it?” she asked.
    â€œI can’t,” I said.
    She nodded. “Okay,” she said, and went back to her list.
    I went into the mudroom and examined the lounge-sled. It looked pretty good, actually. The aluminum frame had a dent in it, but that wouldn’t interfere with my comfort or with its speed down the slope. One ski had come loose and needed to be reattached, and the webbing in the entire middle was frayed and torn up. It would have to be replaced with something . . . but what?
    â€œCan I get you anything from the grocery?” Mom called out from the kitchen.
    Duct tape! That would fix it! I could reweave the middle of the frame with duct tape, doubled up on both sides so I wouldn’t get stuck to it.
    â€œI’ll need lots and lots of duct tape. And superglue, too,” I said.
    â€œWhat about Mary? Do you think she needs anything?”
    I could tell Mom was suspicious. This was as close as she would come to getting into my business.I hid my emotions behind a face as blank as I could muster up, and with as smooth a voice as I could force, I said, “Mary’s not coming.”
    â€œOh,” she said. She came to the mudroom door and waited a second for me to explain. But when I didn’t, she said, “I guess she went home after school?”
    â€œHow am I supposed to know? I’m not in the business of taking care of her. That’s your job.” I tried not to sound irritated.
    â€œWell, actually, last year Ms. Vittles, Mary, and I had a discussion about that. We all agreed Mary is responsible and reliable enough to stay home alone.”
    â€œThen why does—or did—Mary come over every day?” I asked.
    Mom shrugged. “Because she wants to, I guess. She’s very fond of you.”
    Ha. She’s fond of torturing me, that’s all. Good riddance.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    On Saturday morning I told Mom I was going to hang out with the guys and maybe do some sledding. I grabbed four fruit pies and a family-size bag of Skittles and put them in a plastic bag for a snack on the hill. The way I figured it, I would catch the nine thirty ski bus to the top of Lakeside Ski Hill; that would takeabout twenty minutes. Then it would take another ten minutes to hike across the ridge to Specter Slope. I’d meet Littledood, and then we’d head down, have his little hoopla celebration, and I could be home in time for lunch. Deep-fried potato skins smothered in veggie chili and soy cheese, with a strawberry-banana-cashew smoothie loaded with a few extra spoonfuls of brown sugar. I already couldn’t wait to get home.
    When I reached the bus stop, the bus was already there. The door was open, and I looked up at the driver, who sat in his seat, chugging a big can of Energeeze Me drink. He burped and then smiled down at me. “Well, come on,” he said. He didn’t look old enough to drive.
    I squeezed past the door