Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff

Chapter 1
    . . . from Linny, who’s screaming like a hyena. “Get back here, you two.”
    Just because she’s the oldest, she thinks she’s the alpha dog of the family.
    â€œArf, arf,” I bark, pulling open the back door.
    Linny’s best friend, Becca, is standing right there. “How come Linny wants you?” she asks.
    We don’t bother to answer. Becca’s the nosiest kid in the world, with a beak to match.
    Mary bangs spoons on her high chair and gives us a toothless smile. “Bye-bye.”
    I wave at her and speed outside. Zack speeds with me.
    â€œYou left those disgusting things all over the kitchen,” Linny goes on.
    â€œCan’t even leave one worm around,” Zack mutters.
    It’s not quite one worm. We actually have a farm with about forty of them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
    Terrific creatures. Highly intelligent. We’re teachingthem to climb the table legs. Give them a boost and they’re right up there, heading for the tabletop.
    Unfortunately, two or three have wandered away. We’re on a mission to find replacements.
    â€œHunter!” Linny screams. “Zack!”
    Any minute she’ll alert poor Mom. Without thinking, we take a shortcut across the front lawn, our feet sinking in a little.
    We stop at the edge, realizing what we’ve done. It’s a moment of horror. Our footprints zigzag across Pop’s newly seeded lawn; it’s as if something has chewed up the whole thing. Somehow we’ll have to deal with it before Pop gets home from work.
    In the living room window, our dog, Fred, with the skunk breath and nasty disposition, is doing somersaults on the back of the couch and yowling at the top of his lungs. They probably can hear him in Fiji.
    Zack and I hit the sidewalk and keep going. It’s a crucial getaway. We trot past the school; our classroom is on the second floor. That’s Doomsday staring us right in the face. Four more days and we’re prisoners again! Summer is disappearing fast.
    Upstairs, Sister Appolonia is pasting moldy leaves on the window. In a flash, it comes to me that we’re supposed to bring in last June’s report cards. Impossible.
    We buried Zack’s with its horrific music mark in a pileof garbage. Last time I saw mine, it was clamped between Fred’s jaws. We told Mom the school is going green, saving paper, doing away with report cards. We’ll tell Sister that Mom framed the cards over the living room couch.
    Sister Appolonia spots us and sticks out her head. “How about a little help up here?”
    â€œSheesh,” I mumble, but we maintain our speed. At the same time, I point up at a cloud. Let her think we’ve become deaf over the summer and we’ve taken up sky-watching.
    We’re about to cross Murdock Avenue when a head pops out from behind the telephone pole.
    What next?
    â€œIt’s Sarah Yulefski,” Zack whispers. “Head for the woods.”
    He’s right. There she is, Sarah Yulefski with her braces festooned with Rice Chex, and her knotty hair down to her waist. Sarah Yulefski, who told the whole class I’m in love with her.
    I shudder, thinking about it.
    â€œStop right there, Hunter.” She sounds like Alpha Dog Linny.
    We dive out onto Murdock Avenue, but a truck barrels toward us, horn blaring, gravel spitting. We jump back, barely escaping with our lives.
    â€œOne of these days you’re going to kill yourselves,” Yulefski says.
    If it happened four days later, it wouldn’t be so bad. School would be closed on the first day for our funeral. We’d be heroes.
    â€œListen, guys,” Yulefski says. “I have news.”
    Sure. She’s playing in another concert. She has a new brown outfit for school that matches her teeth.
    â€œSorry,” Zack says. “We can’t stop. We’re on our way to . . .”
    â€œ. . . help Sister