True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan Page A

top of two branches, and Ferris Boyd had a roof. “Now you won’t get wet,” she said. She put the cooler in a corner. She brought a box with a lock, and a blanket. “Oof,” she grunted as she hoisted them up the tree.
    Friday, when she was finished, Delly walked slowly around the place. She touched the rails, the roof, the bark, and the branches. She sat in the corner across from her friend. “What do you think, Ferris Boyd?” she asked softly.
    The girl gazed at all Delly had done, and her eyes were not sad; they were smiling.
    Delly leaned back against the rail. “All right then,” she rasped.
    The cat walked over to her. It turned in a circle and lay down with its soft back against her leg, like she belonged.
    And Delly Pattison, finally peaceful, fell asleep.
    She woke to the cat’s tail whapping her. “Huh?” She yawned.
    She heard the whistle from the other world. “Chizzle,” she sighed, and crawled to the ladder.
    â€œSee you Monday, Ferris Boyd,” she said. She didn’t ask, because now she knew: she belonged there, too. “And I’ll see you,” she told the cat.
    The cat turned away like it didn’t care, but its tail flicked twice at her.
    Then she was running, through the woods, down the road, and into town, smiling so the wind whistled through her teeth.

Chapter 37
    S unday morning, Brud Kinney’s pad was already open as he walked down the drive. He held it up to the boy. G-I-R-A-F-F-E, it read. No Touch.
    Ferris Boyd nodded.
    Brud’s happiness ran him behind the garage. “Y-Y-Yes!” he hollered into his hands. His fists pumped the air five times before he could begin.
    And Ferris Boyd whooped him.
    As soon as he got the E , Brud sprinted toward the boy, trying to get another game before he vanished.
    But the boy wasn’t running away. He was standing in the drive with his pad flipped open. Again, it read.
    Brud’s teeth flashed bright white.
    After he got trounced, Brud turned to the house, expecting to see the door slamming for his good-bye.
    Instead, Ferris Boyd was sitting on the stoop.
    So Brud walked over. He pointed at an empty spot.
    The boy nodded.
    Brud sat down beside him.
    Brud was used to sitting with someone and not talking. He wasn’t used to the other person not talking, too.
    He liked it, a lot.
    Because people were always talking at him, like it was nothing, and wanting him to talk back. But it wasn’t nothing to Brud. It was hard, and he hated it. He hated sounding wrong and feeling stupid. That never happened with Ferris Boyd.
    They sat like that for a long time.
    In the quiet, Brud could hear the birds. He could see them, too, swooping around the stoop. That’s a lot of birds, he thought.
    And one flew straight at him.
    â€œH-H-Hey,” he hollered, and ducked. He glanced over at the boy.
    The bird was perched on Ferris Boyd’s shoulder, like it lived there. “Whoa,” Brud breathed.
    Ferris Boyd and the bird were staring at each other. Neither one of them made a sound, but Brud could feel it: those two were telling each other things.
    â€œWh-Wh-What the . . . ,” he whispered.
    The bird gazed at Brud and started chirping. It was telling him something, too.
    Brud heard it, in his head. My friend, it said.
    Brud looked at the boy. Mine, too, he thought.
    Ferris Boyd turned to him, as if he’d talked. The blue eyes were surprised, then settled into softness.
    Mine, too, Ferris Boyd told him, without saying a word.
    The bird flew off.
    But those two stayed, sitting in the warmth of the day and all the things they didn’t have to say.

Chapter 38
    R B Pattison had had enough.
    He’d walked home every day with Cletis. He’d watched Delly stash things away, then haul them to school. He’d seen her be happy without him.
    He’d given her all kinds of chances to come clean. “When’s your project going to be done?” he