The Secret of Ferrell Savage

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

Book: The Secret of Ferrell Savage by J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian Read Free Book Online
Authors: J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian
and up the steps with my sled and tripped over a snowboard that lay on the floor next to the driver.
    â€œCan’t you find a better place for that?” I asked.
    â€œYeah, I know of a better place. But do you know how hard it is to drive with your feet on a snowboard?” He laughed hysterically and held out his hand for my money. I gave it to him, and he checked out the Pollypry. “Haw, dude,” he said. “I know who you are now.” He bowed his head toward me and said, “It’s an honor to give you a lift, Survivor Boy.” And helaughed hysterically again. No more Energeeze Me for this guy, please.
    â€œWhy is the bus so empty?” Maybe I was the last one in town to learn that getting on a bus with a driver juiced up on sports drinks was taking a bigger health risk than any I’d yet taken in my young life.
    â€œI reckon folks aren’t hard-core adventurers like you and me. They get scared when they hear any mention of a little snow coming over the mountains.”
    â€œA little snow?”
    â€œYou know how it goes. They say the mountains are going to get dumped on, and then the snow peters out right when the clouds get to Lakeside.” He sighed and added, “We never get the good blizzards.”
    Now, there’re two words you don’t usually hear together: “good” and “blizzard.”
    I took a seat toward the back, thinking it would decrease my chances of being hurled through the windshield. I leaned the Pollypry sideways in the aisle. The bus started, the driver shut the door, and then he suddenly opened it again. Mary leaped up the steps, breathless. She handed Mr. Energy her money, then, seeing me in the back, she took a seat in the front.
    â€œWhat is she doing here?” I mumbled out loud to myself. But I knew what she was up to. She didn’tthink I could handle it. She was scared I was going to somehow blow it and her secret—and mine too, let’s not forget!—was going to be spilled all over town.
    The bus rolled forward. It crawled out of the parking lot and began to trudge up the hill. “Woo-hoo!” the driver shouted. “We’re on our way now!”
    At this pace it would be noon before we got there, but you know what? I could not have cared less.
    Just looking at the back of Mary’s head, I felt a surge from years’ worth of aggravating situations. Like the way she never gives me the answers to our homework assignments because she tells me I need to understand it for myself. I understand everything; it just takes me too long to do it. And when we go to the SuperTarget with Mom, Mary pulls on my shirtsleeve when I start to wander down the wrong aisle. Maybe I want to look at something. Besides, isn’t getting lost the whole reason for cell phones?
    Oh, and here’s the big one. When we’re sitting on our beanbag chairs in front of the TV, she always turns to look at me during the funny parts. I used to think it was because she wanted to make sure I was having a good time. But now I get why she does it.
    â€œHey, Mary!” I yelled from the backseat. “I knowwhy you look at me during the funny scenes on TV.” She turned around. Her face was small and pinched up underneath her teal-blue hat. “It’s because you want to make sure I’m not too stupid to get the jokes.”
    â€œIf you get SpongeBob’s jokes, then why do I always have to explain them?” she yelled back.
    Low blow.
    â€œBoys and girls,” the driver said. He shook his head and wagged his finger over his shoulder at us. “This is a happy bus.”
    â€œI’m not talking to you!” Mary shouted at me, and jerked herself around so fast, the bobble on her hat got twisted up.
    â€œMe neither!” I shouted back, which didn’t really make sense.
    Oh, who cares? The bus chug-chugged on, and we rode in silence. I leaned my head against the window and felt the vibrations

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