Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff Page A

trapped.
    I’m beginning to realize that rats’ teeth are like razors, and that I couldn’t find socks to put on this morning. I’m beginning to realize I’m terrified.
    Above me, someone is rattling the window. I look up and cringe. It’s Bradley the Bully.
    Steadman and I back up into the darkest corner. Even rats are friendlier than Bradley. What’s he doing up there, anyway? He wiggles one bandaged finger into the bite-sized hole and snaps open the lock. “Leth go here,” he tells himself.
    Suddenly there’s a hint of summer air, there’s light. The window is open; Bradley crawls in and drops. He’s two inches away from us and any rats that might be scurrying around.
    I put my hand over Steadman’s mouth. But Bradley brushes right past us. He heads for the stairs. What a surprise he’s going to get when he reaches the door.
    But no surprise.
    He must have a key.
    The door opens, closes, and he’s gone.
    â€œWhat’s he doing here, anyway?” Steadman asks.
    â€œPlaying basketball, or something, without paying the six bucks,” I answer.
    We wait awhile; then we tiptoe up the stairs and into the hall.
    We hear Bradley shooting hoops:
ba-boom, ba-boom
; we edge our way down the hall without making a sound. The whistler is asleep on a couch in the coatroom, his pail and mop propped up against the wall.
    â€œWe’re out of here,” I tell Steadman.
    But wait.
    I back up.
    â€œCome on, Hunter,” Steadman says. “I’m starving to death.”
    I raise my hand, hardly paying attention to him. I stare at that picture of a cat taped up behind the desk. I stare at a picture of a dog.
    I stare at the words
:
HUGE PRIZES .
    I pull Steadman around to the back of the desk. And I see it. I really see it.
    BRING YOUR PET. TEACH HIM GYMNASTICS. ALMOST FREE. PRIZES FOR THE WINNERS, ESPECIALLY SIX DOLLARS TUITION!
    I read it again and say it aloud, trying to put it together.
    â€œFred would be great at gymnastics,” Steadman says, still sniffling.
    â€œYou’re right.” I stare at something else: a list of dogs, cats, and their names, all entered into the gymnastics contest.
    I run my finger down the list. There are a bunch of Buddys, a couple of Pals, two Fluffys, and one Frederika.
    Frederika?
    Could it be?
    But there’s no time to think. I hear something. Bradley? The whistler? Rats coming up the stairs?
    â€œLet’s go,” I tell Steadman, and we run like antelopes right out the door.

Chapter 22
    We head for home and slide into the kitchen. Mom is upstairs with K.G. and Mary. Too bad she doesn’t just relax and come down for dinner. Nana’s Pineapple Chicken isn’t half-bad.
    â€œYour father’s gone to Acme Hardware Store,” Nana says. “He’s given up on the lawn. He wants to build a porch out back, but his boards and nails are missing.”
    Zack gulps. I stare down at my plate. I root around, pushing the weedy greens to one side, and take a mouthful of pineapple. I chew slowly. I have to concentrate.
    Zack isn’t concentrating. He’s wolfing down the chicken as if he hasn’t had a meal in a week. “Let’s go, Hunter,” he says.
    â€œWhat about all those books in the living room?” Linny says.
    â€œWe’re building a ladder with them,” Zack tells her. “Right to the ceiling.”
    Linny rolls her eyes at Nana. “I’ll probably have to take them back to the library myself.”
    â€œGood work, Linny,” Zack says.
    I follow him out the door, with Steadman behind us.
    That’s all we need.
    â€œListen, Steadman,” Zack says. “You have to guard the house. Keep watching in case something comes up about Fred.”
    Steadman’s lips go out about a mile. “What could come up?”
    I lean forward, trying to think. “Suppose the kidnapper walks by with him?”
    Steadman leans forward.
    â€œKeep an eye