It was hard to pick out the hunting ground without all the people around, but when he walked his bike down the steep hill and onto the trampled grass, he knew he was there. Pastel chips of eggshell glittered in the thatch. He parked his bike at the tree line and reentered, it seemed for an instant, his dreams.
He went straight for the spot, and knew at once that something was wrong. The yellow egg was gone. And the leaves, still a pile, were shallow now, not heaped as before. Gingerly at first, then more forcefully, he kicked at the leaves, broomed them away with his foot until they lay flat and scattered on the ground. No lips. No eyes. No beautiful face. Nobody.
He went deeper into the trees, seeking tracks, scraps of clothing, evidence. Had animals carried her off in the night? Eaten her? Had someone found the body and notified the police? Yes, he decided, that was it. The police had come and taken photographs like in the movies and carried her away on a stretcher with a sheet over her from head to foot.
When he returned home his grandmother was in a tizzy. She talked in that whispery, patient voice of hers; she never yelled. As usual, she was full of whys. Why this? Why not that? She couldn’t get it through her head that he didn’t give a rat’s rump about whys.
As usual, she slipped his father into it. “If you won’t behave for my sake, David, or even your own, you should at least behave for your father’s sake. He’s trying his best to provide for you. That’s why he drives all the way to Connecticut and back every week. That’s why he’s so tired all the time. He’s overwhelmed.”
His father’s company needed him to manage a shopping mall in the state of Connecticut, over 200 miles away. He was home only on weekends. David knew exactly what “overwhelmed” meant. It meant less time for David.
She finally came to the end of her speech, saying, “I think you ought to stay in the house for the rest of the afternoon.”
This was how she introduced all of her infrequent punishments: “I think you ought to…” More plea than command. She delivered punishment the way she drove a car: timid, nervous, afraid of a backfire. David’s usual answer was, “I don’t think I ought to…” And he would do as he pleased.
But this time he had a problem. He actually wanted to stay in the house, because he wanted to be there the instant the daily newspaper arrived. He was sure news of the body would be all over the front page. But staying in the house would give his grandmother the impression that he was obeying her, which was unthinkable. He could not leave. He could not stay.
He sat mired in the living room, wondering what to do. His grandmother went back to her housework. Every so often she would glance over at him. Her looks became more and more kindly, sympathetic. Any minute now she might decide to say, “Okay, David, you’ve stayed long enough. You can go out and play.” And for the rest of her life she would smugly believe she had successfully punished then pardoned him. He could not allow it.
Think. Think.
He went into the kitchen and got a Mango Madness from the refrigerator. There were always bottles of Mango Madness on the bottom shelf. As he drank at the kitchen table, the answer came.
He popped up and swaggered past her as she was watering a plant. “Guess I’ll go out,” he said as if to himself and headed for the door. “David,” she called, but she had lost and she knew it. One more limpid “David” and he was out the door, slamming it behind.
He took his time. She would not come to the door. She would not call after him. She would not do anything to upset him. She would sigh and close her eyes and remind herself that he had already had enough upset for a lifetime. It was all part of what she called “The Sadness.” Nor would she tell his father, for he was already “overwhelmed.”
David sauntered down the street. No one, not grandmothers, not anyone, could touch him. His mother’s death had made him invincible.
* fin·ster·wal·lies (fin’stẽr-wäl-ēz) n. [Two Mills, Pa., W. End] Violent trembling of the body, especially in the extremities (arms and legs)
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Megin
Greg
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About the Author
Also by Jerry Spinelli
A Sneak Peek of Maniac Magee
A Sneak Peek of Space Station Seventh Grade
A Sneak Peek of Eggs
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 1984 by Jerry Spinelli
Excerpt from Maniac Magee copyright © 1990 by Jerry Spinelli
Excerpt from Space Station Seventh Grade copyright © 1982 by Jerry Spinelli
Excerpt from Eggs copyright © 2007 by Jerry Spinelli
Cover photo © Roger Hagadone
Cover design by Alyssa Morris
Copyright © 2000 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
[email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Little, Brown and Company
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The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
First ebook edition: July 2014
ISBN 978-0-316-38155-0
E3
Jerry Spinelli, Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush?
(Series: # )
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