The Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein Page B

if Miss Spratling had anything special planned for the anniversary.

Zack found the dog’s towel hanging in the mudroom and swiped it under Zipper’s belly before he grabbed the dog by the collar.
    â€œSorry, Zip. You need to wait upstairs.”
    Zipper dug his hind legs into the thistle rug and tried to sit down while Zack tried to pull him forward. Finally, Zack scooped Zipper up, cradled him in his arms, and carried the dog upstairs to his bedroom. He didn’t waste time changing into dry shorts or taking a shower. He closed the door and stood in the hall.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” he said through the door. “And remember—no barking!”
    Zipper barked.
    â€œZipper?”
    Zack heard whimpering on the other side. But no more barks.
    He raced down the steps and went to the front hall to retrieve the hacksaw he had hidden in the closet the night before. Since Judy was still out on the back porch, he slowly opened the front door, careful not to let it make any noise—even when he eased it shut again. Once outside, Zack turned right and ran toward a house being built three doors up the block.
    He saw a pile of neatly stacked lumber, but Zack wasn’t interested in free wood today. He scaled the cinder-block foundation and trotted across the decking to find the treasure hidden out back.
    There it was, just where Davy had said it would be: a shiny steel toolbox tucked up against the foundation.
    Zack jumped down to the cement-splattered clay and examined the lock. Davy had told him its shackle was made with a “cut-resistant alloy” and warned Zack that it might take half an hour to hacksaw through it.
    But we need the galdern tool!
    That’s why he added a shower and a sandwich to the list of things he supposedly needed to take care of inside the house. Judy wouldn’t start wondering where he was for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes.
    Zack started sawing. A thin dust of metal filings hit the dirt near his knees. Five minutes later, his hair was soaking wet from exertion, but the cut was only an eighth of an inch deep. He might be out here for over an hour.
    Judy will come into the house looking for you! Saw faster, pal! Faster! Give her some galdern elbow grease!
    Zack took in a deep breath and, grunting, put everything he had into his hacksaw thrusts. A drop of bubbly sweat fell on his knee.
    It took Zack an instant to realize it wasn’t sweat.
    It was spit.
    â€œWhat you doin’ down there, Barbie?”
    Zack looked up.
    Kyle Snertz loomed over him. The sneering bully hawked up another slimy wad, juiced his lips, and let loose a thick chunk of spit. The spew smeared across Zack’s glasses.
    â€œI said, what are you doin’,
Bar-bie
?”
    â€œNothing” was the best Zack could come up with.
    â€œHah!”
    Snertz leapt down. His three buddies came bounding down after him.
    â€œWell, well, well. Barbie here is trying to bust into a toolbox.”
    â€œNo, I’m not.”
    â€œThat’s
my
toolbox. We got first dibs.”
    One of Snertz’s cronies held a heavy-duty bolt cutter with three-foot-long handles.
    â€œI only need one tool,” said Zack. “You guys can have the rest. Okay?”
    â€œHah!” said Snertz. “All the tools in that box belong to me! I need ’em to build a railroad.”
    Zack was confused. “A railroad?”
    â€œYeah. On your chest!” Snertz shoved Zack backward, knocked him to the ground, sat on his stomach, and started pummeling his rib cage.
    â€œFirst we need to crush the rocks!”
    â€œHey! Get off of me!”
    Snertz pinned Zack’s arms underneath his knees.
    â€œI said get off of me, snothead!”
    â€œWhat? What’d you call me?”
    Furious, Snertz ripped open Zack’s T-shirt and rasped a knuckled fist up his sternum—leaving behind a raw ribbon of skin burn.
    â€œGet off of me!”
    â€œUh-oh! Rocks. Little bitty