The Friendship Riddle by Megan Frazer Blakemore Read Free Book Online

paper.
    The envelope was wedged into the book, and it tore a little and left a thin line of red behind when I pulled it out. The origami paper was so dry, I was afraid it would disintegrate before I removed the note. But I got it, and pulled out the index card. The same red seal with the sharp-beaked bird on it. I’d really and truly found a second clue! I unfolded the card. This one had a border made of stones that pressed against one another. At the top was a drawing of a sculpture of a man’s head. Floating above the head was a golden crown. The picture made me think of Charlotte, and the way she could use her colored pencils to make her drawings alive. I read:

    I understood the first part. Ferdinand Frontenac wasn’t a king. He was a settler who united the British, French-Canadian, and American Indians on the peninsula. That was why the schools were named after him. Our mascot was the beaver because he traded their fur. There was a statue of him in the school. That had to be the marble man.
    The rest was just gibberish. “Miners with a pan”? Like the gold rush? We studied that in fifth grade, and there was nothing that connected that to Ferdinand Frontenac. Andthe quote at the end: What could that possibly mean? It seemed like it was giving me a direction, like it was telling me to make a plan and keep going, straight and steady.
    I had to remind myself that the notes weren’t talking to me. I didn’t know who they were talking to. They had to be for someone, didn’t they? I wanted it to be me.

    Mum called us over the computer from Texas that night. She looked all grainy and jumpy on the screen. Behind her was a framed print of a cactus. It’s funny how hotels don’t change much from city to city, state to state: beige walls, white sheets, shiny desk. You’ve got to look for the little details to see the differences: a cactus print instead of a photograph of a skyscraper, pink coverlet instead of brown.
    â€œI should be home tomorrow,” she said. “As long as the weather holds there.”
    Mom and I were eating dinner while we talked with her. I wound the spaghetti around my fork. “Good.”
    â€œWe can study for the bee.”
    â€œI’ve started,” I confessed. “There’s this boy, Coco, at school who is going to help me.”
    Mom’s eyebrows jumped up her forehead like jacks out of boxes.
    â€œAnd I can help you.” The connection made Mum’s accent harder to understand. It almost sounded like she said “An I can’t help ye.”
    My mouth was full of spaghetti, so I nodded eagerly. I didn’t want Mum to think that studying with Coco meant I didn’t trust her to help me. Swallowing, I said, “I’ve got the Spell It! study site bookmarked on the computer.”
    â€œLet me know as soon as your flight is confirmed,” Mom said. “I’m on call tomorrow. We need to make plans for Ruth.”
    â€œI’m fine here by myself,” I said.
    They didn’t even bother to answer.
    â€œI think we’re looking at another snow day,” Mom said.
    â€œHere’s hoping I get back in time to enjoy it. Maybe we can go snowshoeing.”
    â€œDid you know that in Africa, girls are getting married by my age? They run their own households,” I informed them.
    â€œAfrica is not a country,” Mom said. “And every country is different. But in the countries where girls marry young, they usually become part of a larger family unit, with older women to help guide them. No one your age is running a family.”
    I wondered if that was true, absolutely. Somewhere, somehow, there was a girl my age on her own and looking out for a family. “All I’m saying is that you can leave me alone for a night. I’ll be sleeping. What can happen to me when I’m sleeping?”
    Mom looked at Mum on the computer screen. “Not up for discussion,” she said. “Why