Hunter Moran Hangs Out by Patricia Reilly Giff Page B

start-up.
    But never mind that. We definitely have a kidnapping on our hands. Which one of us? I run through the whole family in my mind, oldest to youngest. Airhead William, Alpha Dog Linny, Zack and me, Mary, who almost lives in a high chair, and . . .
    I stop dead in the middle of the street.
“The victim never keeps quiet
.” Steadman shuts his mouth only to chew on the most unhealthy snack he can find.
    Zack claps his hand to his head. “Small enough to fit in a cage.
A thick cage
?”
    Steadman is only five years old. What a hole that would leave in our family. Instead of six kids, there would only be five, not counting the one that will be born any minute.
    It’s impossible to think about it.
    We start to run and get as far as the front door. Linny, skinny hands on her hips, stands there with Becca, who’sa mass of lumps and bumps. “Practicing gymnastics at Gussie’s Gym,” Becca says. “You should see the new guy, Alex. He’s bent over like a corkscrew from working out.”
    I raise one shoulder. Who has time to think about Becca and her run for the Olympics, which will never happen anyway?
    â€œYou two are so lucky,” Linny cuts in.
    Lucky? I don’t think so. “Where’s Steadman?”
    Linny waves her hand toward the house. “In the yard.”
    All fenced in. Safe for the moment.
    â€œHere’s your luck,” Linny goes on. “Pop’s not coming home for dinner.”
    Zack makes a Jell-O face, squishing his cheeks in and out. He thinks Linny has lost her mind.
    I know she has.
    But Linny points one finger at Pop’s new lawn. “You’d better pray he doesn’t get home before dark.”
    The lawn!
    â€œI don’t want to be in your shoes when he sees this,” she says. “Shoes. Get it?” She snickers at her own joke.
    â€œHysterical,” I say.
    She opens the door, and Fred dashes out. He gallops toward us with a couple of frothy growls.
    â€œWatch your ankles,” Zack warns.
    Becca jumps back and darts behind a tree. “That dog is a disaster,” she mutters.
    Steadman is coming out of the backyard. Clumps ofdirt cover his hands, his knees, his shirt. I don’t want to think about what he’s been up to.
    â€œYabaloo!”
Steadman shouts.
    Instantly Fred’s mouth snaps shut; his tail wags. He’s in love with Steadman. They disappear into the house with Linny and Becca right behind them.
    We’re left to see the mess we’ve made of Pop’s lawn. “It’s fixable,” I say.
    â€œHow?”
    â€œSister Appolonia says there’s a solution for everything.”
    But we don’t have time to think about Sister Appolonia. We have to concentrate on salvaging Pop’s lawn before he gets home, and then saving Steadman from a cage, thick or otherwise.
    Zack snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it. Follow me.”
    We cross the street and walk along the weedy driveway of the empty house, until we hit the edge of Werewolf Woods. Huge trees. A muddy pond. Last year, Bradley, the neighborhood bully, with only three teeth, lisped that the pond was a bottomless pit and about forty kids had drowned in there. “Thaw a floater mythelf,” he bragged.
    Zack and I keep our distance from the pond and a possible appearance by Bradley from behind one of the trees, while I wonder if the kidnapper might deposit his victims in that murky water.
    â€œHere it is.” Zack points to a huge rock.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe gravestone.”
    I sink down on a pile of vines as he pats the stone.
    â€œDon’t you see? We’ll roll this across the street and sink it right into the footprints. We’ll tell Pop—”
    I hold up my hand. I can see it. We’ll tell Pop a coyote dropped dead in the middle of the lawn.
    Excellent.
    We get behind the rock. We shove it along, circling the trees, and rumble our way across the street, our arms