Free Nekomah Creek by Linda Crew Page B

Maybe they were starting to catch on to how dangerous it could be to get on the bad side of someone like Mrs. Perkins. Someone who had more power over us than I ever realized.
    Suddenly I wanted to crawl under the punch table. I had the strangest urge to just sit there and read some Encyclopedia Brown. Why couldn’t I be like him? He’s smart and all he does is solve crimes. He never wastes time worrying about personal muddles.
    No wonder I like books better than real life.

  10  

Tough Times for a Failed Hero
    All the next morning I sat there in class, staring at Amber Hixon’s empty desk. Funny. Until she came out of Mrs. Van Gent’s office all red-faced that first time, I’d never thought much about her at all.
    Of course there’d been times over the past couple of years when you couldn’t help noticing her, like in first grade when she was the only one who came to school on Halloween without a costume. Our teacher took out some scarves and bracelets and helped her dress up like a Gypsy. But Amber just stood there, not even cracking the teensiest smile, never thanking Mrs. Murphy. “My mother made me a beautiful bride dress,” was all she said, “but it turned out too nice to wear to school.”
    In third grade she sat right in front of me. I spent a lot of time looking at the back of her head, wonderingif she knew her hair was all snarled up. Why didn’t her mom make her comb it? Don’t get me wrong—personally, I hate to be nagged about that kind of stuff. It’d be weird, though, if my parents didn’t.
    Now Amber was gone, and I was thinking about her a lot more than I ever had before. What was happening at her house that made the counselor think she ought to live somewhere else?
    When I got home that afternoon, Dad said the kids’d had a rough day. At first he thought maybe they’d just gotten into too much Halloween candy, but now they had fevers and it looked like the flu. He’d already called Mom and told her she’d better come on home if she could.
    So we were all there when Freddie first got that stricken, cross-eyed look. Then he reared back and heaved all over Buddy Wabbit.
    Shocked silence.
    Mom was the first to spring into action. “Grape juice,” she said, picking up the bunny with two fingers. “You gave him grape juice.” She yanked a long strip of paper toweling out of the holder and started swabbing at everything, including Dad. “This’ll stain like crazy.”
    Holding Freddie, Dad wiped his dripping hand on a towel. “The clinic said liquids.”
    I came to Dad’s defense. “Freddie wanted it, Mom. Really. That’s all he’d take.”
    Mom looked at Freddie and her face softened. “You poor little guy. Don’t you worry. We’re going to get you all fixed up.”
    “Buddy!” Freddie noticed his bunny was splotched purple. He stretched his arms out and screamed. “Buddy Wabbit!”
    “Let me get him cleaned off, Honey,” Mom said, “and then you can have him back.”
    “Nooooo! Buddeeeeeee!”
    “Oh, let him have it,” Dad said. “If it’ll stop him crying.”
    But when Mom tried to hand it to him he got even more upset. “Buddy Wabbit!
No
Buddy Wabbit!” He wanted him but he was grossed out at the same time. Finally Dad carried Freddie off to the bathroom to clean him up.
    Lucy toddled in with the end of a roll of toilet paper and started mopping at everything, just like Mom.
    “Oh, no!” I said. “Look, Mom. The other end’s still attached in the bathroom! She’s undoing the whole roll!”
    “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care right now.” Mom was frantically working on Buddy. After a moment, she stopped and gave Lucy a quick smile. “You’re a good little helper, aren’t you, Honey?”
    “Helper,” Lucy said. Then
she
threw up.
    “Oh, no!” I shrieked, making for the bathroom. “Dad!”
    “For Pete’s sake, Robby. Yelling loud enough forthe neighbors to hear doesn’t help. How about giving us a hand?”
    “I’m trying!” I protested. “But