Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff Page B

on the living room window,” I say.
    Steadman nods. “I’ll do it.”
    Across the street in Werewolf Woods, Zack and I sink down and lean against one of the toothpick trees. Zack chews on a blade of grass. I chew on my nails.
    â€œSo who is it?” Zack asks.
    â€œSomeone who belongs to the gym. Someone who wants to enter Fred in the contest,” Yulefski says from the next tree.
    â€œSomeone who knows how good Fred is at jumping and rolling around,” Zack adds.
    I have no nails left to chew. “Someone who needs six bucks to stay in the gym.”
    We look at each other. That’s not William. William has tons of money.
    Zack slaps his forehead. “Becca.”
    â€œBecca,” Yulefski echoes.
    I begin to shake my head. Isn’t Becca afraid of Fred? Maybe not as afraid as she wants us to think.
    I close my eyes. I rest my head against the tree. That’s it! Becca. I see it in my mind: Becca bent over, pulling Fred along in the bag. Becca wearing a hat so no one will recognize her.
    â€œWhat a weasel she is,” Yulefski says.
    Zack and I get to our feet. We have to go over to Becca’s house right away. We march down the block, Yulefski right behind us. We dash across Murdock Avenue and end up at Becca’s front path.
    â€œBecca!” Zack yells.
    â€œWe want to talk to you!” I shout.
    Yulefski adds an ear-piercing whistle.
    But what do I see? Becca going out her back door, pulling a bag along behind her.
    â€œWait!” we all call together.
    She doesn’t wait. Does she even hear us? She slams the bag over her cyclone fence into the next yard. Poor Fred, his brains must be scrambled.
    Next Becca throws herself over the fence. She’s heading for Suicide Hill. We climb over her fence a moment later. The top edges are sharp enough to amputate our fingers.
    Becca runs like a cheetah; so does Yulefski. Zack and I huff and puff behind them. We have no breath to yell at her. Becca’s bag jostles from one side to the other.
    And there’s Suicide Hill, looming up in front of us.
    Becca stops. She reaches into the bag. She holds it upside down.
    Oh, Fred.
    What falls out is definitely not Fred. It’s a skateboard.
    She’s probably killed him already with her rough treatment!
    â€œHold it right there, Becca!” Yulefski yells.
    Becca doesn’t hold it. With the bag floating out behind her, she skates down Suicide Hill.
    We race after her, the cement coming up to meet our sneakers. We’ll never get to the end alive. We’ll have to be buried on the front lawn. It’s a good thing there’s plenty of room under the gravestone.
    Zack falls first, and I’m right after him. We roll over and over, cement messing up our hands, our knees, our faces.
    But Becca sails on, with Yulefski right behind her, catching up, ready to grab her. “Where’s the body?” Yulefski shouts, and spins her around.
    We get to our feet.
    â€œBody?” Becca yells, clutching her hair. “Someone’s dead? Who is it?” She sinks down in the weeds next to the hill. “Probably Sister Appolonia. She’s the oldest person I know.”
    Zack makes a Jell-O face. “Maybe Becca’s not the kidnapper,” I say.
    â€œKidnapper?” Becca yells. “Has Linny been kidnapped? I didn’t believe her when she told me.”
    Yulefski runs her teeth over her Rice Chex–filled braces. “You didn’t kidnap Fred?”
    Becca’s still yelling. “Not Sister Appolonia? Not Linny?”
    â€œFred,” I say.
    Becca slaps her head. “Who’d steal that dog?”
    We all look at each other.
    We don’t have a clue.



Chapter 23
    . . . to the classroom where we’ll spend the rest of the year in captivity.
    We’re trying to think of books we might have read before Sister Appolonia gets hold of us.
    â€œThere was that girl,” Zack says. “Something about a