Readers
"Mosquitos? Scorpions? Rattlesnakes? Maybe even rabid grizzly bears? I can hardly wait."
"Drop the sarcasm, Callie. Gerry sais the bugs aren't bad this summer. Now go pack. It's a long drive and we need to get started."
I sighed again. Like it or not, I was going camping. Cold nights, snoring mothers, bloodthirsty mosquitoes, stinky outhouses and all. Not to mention
having to listen to my cousin go on and on about her horse. Or her 4-H projects.
But there was nothing I could do. I had to go. Sighing again, I picked up my suitcase and went in the house.
All right, I'll admit it was stupid to point a water pistol—especially one that looked so real—at a complete stranger.
"She's locked in," he says, his eyes wide. "She's hypnotized. I did it. She's down there with this totally serene look on her face. It's unbelievable."
I'm not hungry anymore.
I bolt downstairs. I have never seen my sister look serene before.
I stop in my tracks when I see her. She's sitting on a chair in the middle of our basement. Her back is straight. Her eyes are closed. Her face is passive, relaxed, devoid of all emotion--meaning, in her case, devoid of anger.
I see nothing evil about her for the first time in my entire life.
There was a playful combat everywhere. I didn't have time to look around, but there had to be close to a hundred people around me, yelling, laughing and swinging their pillows.
On the edges of the battle other people watched. THere were grown-ups holding their kids by the hand or loaded down with shopping bags, looking stunned or amused or confused. Some laughed and pointed, and others hurried away like they were scared. There had to be almost as many people watching as there were participating.
One of the pillows burst, and a million white feathers shot into the air like a billowing cloud! The crowd—watching and fighting—erupted into gasps and screams and laughter.
"You can't threaten me," I countered, my knees quivering with fear. "I'll tell whoever I want about this and you can't stop me."
"Oh, can't I? Your Grandpa's having a hard time scraping money to keep that ranch running, isn't he? How would it be if things got just a little bit harder? You wouldn't want ole' Granddad to lose the farm, now would you?"
"You couldn't do that," I whispered.
"Try me," Bellamy said, his eyes glittering like a snake's.
One of the private-school boys grabs hold of his buddy's arm. "Let's get outta here," he says. "See the fangs on that monster? And the way his ears are sticking up?"
I don't like him calling Smokey a monster. If Smokey's baring his fangs, it's because he's on the alert.
I head for the cash. I feel like Smokey needs me. Like I understand him in a way no one else does.
