ONE Roy would not have noticed the strange boy if it werent for Dana Matherson, because Roy ordinarily didnt look out the window of the school bus. He preferred to read comics and mystery books on the morning ride to Trace Middle.
But on this day, a Monday Roy would never forget , Dana Matherson grabbed Roys head from behind and pressed his thumbs into Roys temple, as if he were squeezing a soccer ball.
The older kids were supposed to stay in the back of the bus, but Dana had snuck up behind Roys seat and ambushed him. When Roy tried to wriggle free, Dana mushed his face against the window. It was then, squinting through the smudged glass, that Roy spotted the strange boy running along the sidewalk.
It appeared as if he was hurrying to catch the school bus, which had stopped at a corner to pick up more kids. The boy was straw-blond and wiry, and his skin was nutbrown from the sun. The expression on his face was intent and serious. He wore a faded Miami Heat basketball jersey and dirty khaki shorts, and here was the odd part: no shoes. The soles of his bare feet looked as black as barbecue coals. Trace Middle School didnt have the worlds strictest dress code, but Roy was pretty sure that some sort of footwear was required.
The boy might have been carrying sneakers in his backpack, if only hed been wearing a backpack. No shoes, no backpack, no books strange, indeed, on a school day.
Roy was sure that the barefoot boy would catch all kinds of grief from Dana and the other big kids once he boarded the bus, but that didnt happen.
Because the boy kept running past the corner, past the line of students waiting to get on the bus; past the bus itself. Roy wanted to shout, Hey, look at that guy! Dana Matherson still had him from behind, pushing his face against the window. As the bus pulled away from the intersection, Roy hoped to catch another glimpse of the boy farther up the street. However, he had turned off the sidewalk and was now cutting across a private yard running very fast, much faster than Roy could run and maybe even faster than Richard, Roys best friend back in Montana.
Richard was so fast that he got to work out with the high school track squad when he was only in seventh grade. Dana Matherson was digging his fingernails into Roys scalp, trying to make him squeal, but Roy barely felt a thing.
He was gripped with curiosity as the running boy dashed through one neat green yard after another, getting smaller in Roys vision as he put a wider distance between himself and the school bus. Roy saw a big pointy-eared dog, probably a German shepherd, bound off somebodys porch and go for the boy.
Incredibly, the boy didnt change his course. He vaulted over the dog, crashed through a cherry hedge, and then disappeared from view. Roy gasped. Whassamatter, cowgirl? Had enough? This was Dana, hissing in Roys right ear. Being the new kid on the bus, Roy didnt expect any help from the others.
The cowgirl remark was so lame, it wasnt worth getting mad about. Dana was a well-known idiot, on top of which he outweighed Roy by at least fifty pounds. Fighting back would have been a complete waste of energy. Had enough yet?
We cant hear you, Tex. Danas breath smelled like stale cigarettes. Smoking and beating up smaller kids were his two main hobbies.
Yeah, okay, Roy said impatiently. Ive had enough. As soon as he was freed, Roy lowered the window and stuck out his head. The strange boy was gone. Who was he? What was he running from? Roy wondered if any of the other kids on the bus had seen what hed seen. For a moment he wondered if hed really seen it himself. It was a vacant lot 3. Officer Delinko was met by a man in a dark blue pickup truck. The man, who was as bald as a beach ball, introduced himself as Curly.
Officer Delinko thought the bald man must have a good sense of humor to go by such a nickname, but he was wrong. Curly was cranky and unsmiling. You should see what they done, he said to the policeman. Follow me, the man called Curly said. Officer Delinko got in step behind him.
The dispatcher said you wanted to report some vandalism. Thats right, Curly grunted over his shoulder. The policeman couldnt see what there was to be vandalized on the property, which was basically a few acres of scraggly weeds.
Curly stopped walking and pointed at a short piece of lumber on the ground. A ribbon of bright pink plastic was tied to one end of the stick. The other end was sharpened and caked with gray dirt.
Curly said, They pulled em out. Thats a survey stake? They yanked em out of the ground, every damn one. Probably just kids.
And then they threw em every which way, Curly said, waving a beefy arm, and then they filled in the holes. Thats a little weird, the policeman remarked. When did this happen? Last night or early this morning, Curly said.
Maybe it dont look like a big deal, but its gonna take a while to get the site marked out again. Meantime, we cant start clearin or gradin or nuthin. We got backhoes and dozers already leased, and now they gotta sit. I know it dont look like the crime of the century, but still I understand, said Officer Delinko. Whats your estimate of the monetary damage?
So I can put it in my report. The policeman picked up the survey stake and examined it. Its not really broken, is it? Well, no Were any of them destroyed? How much does one of these things cost a buck or two? The man called Curly was losing his patience. They didnt break none of the stakes, he said gruffly. Not even one? The policeman frowned. He was trying to figure out what to put in his report. You cant have vandalism without monetary damages, and if nothing on the property was broken or defaced.
What Im tryin to explain, Curly said irritably, its not that they messed up the survey stakes, its them screwing up our whole construction schedule. Thats where itll cost some serious bucks. Officer Delinko took off his cap and scratched his head.
Let me think on this, he said. Walking back toward the patrol car, the policeman stumbled and fell down. Curly grabbed him under one arm and hoisted him to his feet. Both men were mildly embarrassed. Stupid owls, said Curly. The policeman brushed the dirt and grass burs off his uniform. You say owls? Curly gestured at a hole in the ground. It was as big around as one of Mother Paulas famous buttermilk flapjacks.
A mound of loose white sand was visible at the entrance. Thats what you tripped over, Curly informed Officer Delinko. An owl lives down there? The policeman bent over and studied the hole. How big are they?
Bout as tall as a beer can. No kidding? But I aint never seen one, officially speakin. Back at the patrol car, the patrolman took out his clipboard and started writing the report.
It turned out that Curlys real name was Leroy Branitt, and he was the supervising engineer of the construction project. He scowled when he saw the policeman write down foreman instead. Officer Delinko explained to Curly the problem with filing the complaint as a vandalism. My sergeants going 6. Some kids came on the property and pulled a bunch of sticks out of the ground.
How do you know it was kids? Curly muttered. Well, who else would it be? What about them fillin up the holes and throwin the stakes, just to make us lay out the whole site all over again. What about that? It puzzled the policeman, too. Kids usually didnt go to that kind of trouble when pulling a prank.
Do you have any particular suspects? Curly admitted he didnt. But, okay, say it was kids. That means its not a crime? Of course its a crime, Officer Delinko replied. Im saying its not technically vandalism. Its trespassing and malicious mischief. Thatll do, Curly said with a shrug. Long as I can get a copy of your report for the insurance company. Least well be covered for lost time and expenses. Officer Delinko gave Curly a card with the address of the police departments administration office and the name of the clerk in charge of filing the incident reports.
Curly tucked the card into the breast pocket of his foreman shirt. The policeman put on his sunglasses and slid into his patrol car, which was as hot as a brick oven.
He quickly turned on the ignition and cranked the air conditioner up full blast. As he buckled his seat belt, he said, Mr. Branitt, 7. Im just curious. Fire away, said Curly, wiping his brow with a yellow bandanna.
Its about those owls. Whats gonna happen to them? Officer Delinko asked. Once you start bulldozing, I mean. Curly the foreman chuckled. He thought the policeman must be kidding. What owls? All day long Roy couldnt stop thinking about the strange running boy. Between classes he scanned the faces in the hallways on the chance that the boy had come to school late.
Maybe hed been hurrying home, Roy thought, to change clothes and put on some shoes. But Roy didnt see any kids who resembled the one who had jumped over the big pointy-eared dog. Maybe hes still running, Roy thought as he ate lunch.
Florida was made for running; Roy had never seen anyplace so flat. Back in Montana you had steep craggy mountains that rose ten thousand feet into the clouds. Here the only hills were man-made highway bridges smooth, gentle slopes of concrete.
Then Roy remembered the heat and the humidity, which on some days seemed to suck the very meat out of his lungs. A long run in the Florida sun would be torture, 8. A kid would have to be tough as nails to make a routine of that. A boy named Garrett sat down across from Roy. Roy nodded hi and Garrett nodded hi, and then both of them went back to eating the gooey macaroni on their lunch trays.
Being the new kid, Roy always sat alone, at the end of the table, whenever he was in the cafeteria. Roy was an old pro at being the new kid; Trace Middle was the sixth school he had attended since hed started going to school.
Coconut Cove was the tenth town his family had lived in since Roy could remember. Roys father worked for the government. Loved each and every part of this book. I will definitely recommend this book to young adult, fiction lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Home Downloads Free Downloads Hoot pdf.
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