Sammy Keyes and the Runaway Elf by Wendelin Van Draanen

now.”
    She was quiet for a second and then said, “Ah … you haven’t told your grandmother about our little arrangement.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Then come over so we can talk.”
    “I could probably do that tomorrow after school.”
    “You’ll do it now!”
    I looked at Grams, watching me. I said, “I’ll see you around four o’clock tomorrow,” and hung up.
    Before Grams could grill me, I crossed my fingers and said, “She wants me to help distribute flyers about her dog.”
    “It never came back?”
    I shook my head.
    Grams took some snapper out of the refrigerator and said, “That’s a shame. I hope she gets it back.”
    I took down the rice and a measuring cup, thinking that that was the understatement of the century.
    *  *  *
    I didn’t sleep very well that night. My brain was too busy trying to move through quicksand. I thought about Lance Gigoni and Paula Nook and stupid ol’ Hero trying to pee on me. I thought about Mrs. Hallenback and her tiger lilies, and I wondered how many people she’d already called and told about the Crocodile. Then I thought about Mr. Petersen. How he’d yelled at everyone at the parade and how he’d probably yelled just the same at the illegals working in his print shop. And lying there in the dark, thinking about cranky ol’ Mr. Petersen, I wondered if there was a picture on his dresser of him looking young and happy. And somewhere between thinking about Mr. Petersen and the Crocodile and Mrs. Graybill at seventeen, I realized that I had to figure out
why
they had turned out the way they had.
    There was no way I ever wanted to look back at a picture of myself at seventeen and not recognize me.
    *  *  *
    I wasn’t thinking about Rudy Folksmeir or dirt or even Heather Acosta when the alarm went off. I was thinking about sleep. I felt like I had spent the night trying to run, but in my dreams I couldn’t even lift my legs. I dragged through breakfast and getting ready for school, and itwasn’t until Grams was shoving me out the door that I remembered Mrs. Graybill’s robe.
    I hurried back inside and stuffed it with the picture in a paper sack. Grams said, “Why don’t you let me take it over?” which made sense, but something about it didn’t feel right. So I said, “No, Grams. I told her I would.” Then, as I’m charging down the hall again, I remember Rudy. “Oh no!”
    “What is it?”
    “Rudy Folksmeir! I’m his KK, and I’m supposed to bring him something. I completely forgot!”
    “A present?”
    I started digging through cupboards. “Just some kind of snack or something.”
    “How about a few shortbreads?”
    I gave it a nanosecond. Pecan shortbreads are dry and crumbly—the closest thing to dirt we had in the house. I threw a few in a Baggie, kissed Grams good-bye, and flew out the door.
    When I got to homeroom, I snuck them on Rudy’s desk and then noticed that someone had put a beautiful Christmas tree cupcake on Heather’s. Now, I don’t know why, but my feet walked me right past my own desk, and before you know it, there I was, sitting at Heather’s.
    When Holly walked through the door, I motioned her over. She sat down in the desk next to me and whispered, “Why are you sitting in Heather’s seat?”
    I grinned. “I’m just warming it up for her.”
    Then Marissa walked in, so I waved her over, too. She said through her teeth, “What have you got—a death wish?”
    Then Heather walked in. I stood up slowly and stared at her.
    “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
    I just kept staring her down.
    “Get away from my desk!” She looked at me, then at the cupcake, then threw the cupcake in the trash. Just like that.
Thunk
.
    I glared at her some more, then opened my desk.
    She pushed it back down. “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to let you poison me, do you?”
    I leaned forward and made a tick-tocking sound with my tongue, then I gave her that evil little smile and whispered, “It’s almost time