Trapped by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

mopping an exam room floor.
    So, you’d think Sage and I would have lots to talk about. And we do, as long as I’m willing to listen to him lecture about the terrible way lab monkeys are treated, or why nobody should wear anything made of fur or even leather.
    I understand his point. I mean, I can get angry about the way animals are treated, too. I’ve been known to lose my temper about it, fly off the handle a bit. (I’m working on that!) Mom says I’ve got to learn that everything isn’t always black and white, though I can’t see how hurting animals is ever anything but just plain evil. But Sage is going a little overboard with the animal rights thing, and I kind of miss the old days when we could just have a normal conversation.
    I think Mom’s a little worried about Sage, too. Animals Always members have been known to get themselves arrested or hurt just to get attention for their cause. I think Mom and Dad both have their fingers crossed that Sage will stay out of trouble. I know I do.
    â€œWant to help me in the critter barn?” Mom asks as we roll up our purple yoga mats.
    â€œSure. Then can we make waffles?”
    â€œAbsolutely!” Mom smiles at me.
    â€œYay, waffles!” Jayvee jumps up and down. “I’ll tell Dad and Sage.” He runs off on his errand.
    As we leave the house, Poe flaps and caws at me. “OK, pal, you can come,” I tell him, bending toward his perch. He hops onto my shoulder and gives me a little nibble on the ear.
    Poe is my pet crow. His full name is actually Edgar Allan Poe. He was shot by a hunter and we rehabbed him, but his wing was ruined forever. Since he’ll never fly again, my folks let me keep him. But Poe is way more than a pet. Sometimes I think he may be the best friend I’ve ever had. He loves to make me laugh, he listens to everything I tell him without judging, and he’s always there when I need him. What more do you want in a friend?
    Mom and I work quickly in the critter barn, making sure that all our current “guests” have been fed and that their cages or tanks are clean.
    Sage surprises me by turning up to join us as we’re doing our rounds. “Haven’t seen the critters in a couple of days,” he mutters, stealing some lettuce from my basket to give to one of the turtles.
    At the moment, we’re caring for a sick raccoon, an owl with a broken wing, and two injured turtles someone found on the side of the road. I stick Poe into an empty bird cage while I work, since owls are crows’ worst enemies. I don’t need Poe—or the owl—getting all riled up.
    Seeing the turtles makes me so mad. Whoever hit them didn’t even stop the car! One of the turtles may be blind for life; the other one has a partially crushed shell and a broken foot. I grumble about how unfair it is that they were hurt.
    â€œHoney, it can be hard to see something that small when you’re driving,” my mother reminds me. She’s carrying an armload of hay to the raccoon’s cage.
    â€œWell, then, maybe some people shouldn’t have cars in the first place!” I say.
    Mom gets that look on her face. She thinks I’m doing that “black and white” thing again. Maybe I am. But I’m right. People should learn to get along without cars. There would be a lot fewer accidents, less pollution, and NO roadkill.
    Sage agrees with me. “Maybe somebody should throw some tacks on the road at strategic places,” he suggests, grinning a little to show that he’s just kidding. (Or is he?) “Maybe that would slow those drivers down. There’s no excuse for killing animals.” Now he’s not grinning anymore. He’s as mad as I am, maybe even angrier.
    Mom just shakes her head.
    I haven’t cooled down by the time we close up the barn. Poe always hates it when I get upset. So, instead of hopping onto my shoulder, he chooses to ride with Mom. I