True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan

couldn’t catch it, though, with him screaming, “They got a chair for you in detention. It’s called Stinky Dinky’s seat.”
    She threw her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. She had one second till she pounded him into tomorrow.
    Then she heard it, under all the noise. She felt it, pinching in her pocket.
    She jumped to her feet and faced him. “Novello,” she hollered, “do you want me to hit you?”
    He was so surprised by the question he could only tell the truth. “Yes,” he howled. “Hit me!” Then he remembered his meanness. “I’d like to see you try, pipsqueak,” he sneered.
    But it was too late, now Delly knew. He wanted her to pummel him.
    â€œNo,” she told him.
    â€œNo?” he shrieked. “You afraid, Smelly? Because you know you can’t do it. You can’t touch me.”
    Delly wasn’t afraid, though. She was free. She walked back to Alaska.
    He trailed her, taunting, “Try it. Come on, Smelly.”
    There was more yelling, then, from Ms. Niederbaum. “Novello, to the steps!” she commanded.
    Delly sat on Alaska, smiling. Not because Novello was imprisoned, although that was nice. Because, for once, she was free of the fight.
    All afternoon she Dellybrated at her desk. If the questions could keep her from pounding Novello, maybe she didn’t need the numbers at all. She banished them to the back of her head. In their place, she had a song: “I don’t need counting; I got questions, instead. And I don’t fight. Yep, I’m doing all right.”
    After school Delly ran to Ferris Boyd. “Hey,” she said softly, and fell in beside her, like they’d been friends forever.
    She waited till they were at the bridge to ask, “Ferris Boyd, did you see? I didn’t fight.” Then she told her, without saying a word, I heard you.
    Ferris Boyd stopped and turned to Delly. Her eyes were still sad, but there was something else in them. Something like a smile.
    It was only a second. Her head went down again, and she was shuffling along the road.
    It was all Delly needed. Ferris Boyd had heard her, too. “All right then.” She grinned.

Chapter 36
    A t the old Hennepin place, Delly was still telling Troubletales. Every afternoon, she’d take her spot on the stoop while Ferris Boyd got the bowl and the ball, and that bawlgram cat came running.
    â€œHey, Ferris Boyd,” she’d ask, “how about we skip basketball and go straight to the hideawaysis?”
    But Ferris Boyd wouldn’t hear it. She’d go to the drive and start making magic with that ball.
    â€œOkay,” Delly’d say, as if she’d warned her, “Troubletale Twenty-two: the Nocussictionary,” or, “Troubletale Thirty-six: the St. Eunice’s spitting contest.”
    And her friend would keep playing, as if Delly could say, I got three heads, and a horn growing out of my back end, and it wouldn’t change anything.
    Later on they’d head to the hideawaysis. Ferris Boyd would settle into her corner with her book and the cat curled beside her.
    Delly’d bring out the food she’d brought to fatten up her pale, skinny friend. She set two sandwiches between them. “Ma says I got to eat more, so I’ll grow,” she told her, which was sort of the truth. She’d eat half of one and groan, “I can’t fit another bite. Ferris Boyd, will you eat it? Or I’ll get in trouble.”
    The girl would stare at the food, then at Delly.
    â€œPlease,” she’d beg, and push it toward her. “Now I got to get to work.”
    While Delly hammered, she’d glance over, and Ferris Boyd would be eating behind her hands. “All right then,” she’d whisper.
    That first week Delly fixed the rails around the hideawaysis. “So no people fall out,” she told the cat, and it flicked its tail at her. She nailed the piece of metal on