Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway by Wendelin Van Draanen Read Free Book Online Page A

Mrs. Willawago came to my defense, saying, “She saw how upset Coralee had made me….” She turned to me and smiled. “I think it was very brave of you, and you're a saint for trying to help.” Her face sort of fluttered as she added, “But maybe the bits and pieces you overheard weren't meant to be put together the way you've put them together? Maybe Coralee was really there for the same reason she was here?”
    “I know what I heard, and it wasn't bits and pieces.”
    “Well, it certainly is odd …”
    Now, inside I'm getting sorta steamed because I can tell she
still
doesn't believe I heard what I heard. And
why
doesn't she believe me?
    Because I'm a kid.
    Then all of a sudden she says, “Oh! Your grandmother called while you were walking the Captain—she wants you to go see her as soon as possible.”
    Grams had called? In the three weeks I'd been walking Captain Patch, this was a first. But before I could ask, Was anything wrong? a wave of acid flooded my stomach.
    Of course something was wrong!
    I'd killed a bird.
    Cut school.
    Forged a note.
    There was no doubt about it—Grams knew.

    Grams and I have a deal. I don't lie to her, she trusts me. But on my way home from Mrs. Willawago's the little voice in my ear was back, telling me that this deal I had with her was just not fair.
Why should you tell her the truth about everything when she keeps secrets from you? Important secrets. Like who your dad is…
    Yeah, I told myself, good point! And by the time I was sneaking up the fire escape of the Senior Highrise, I'd convinced myself to do what Grams and Mom always do—plead the Fifth. Change the subject. Fake an illness.
    Lie.
    Why should I tell her that I'd killed a lovebird. Hid in a closet. Ditched class. Forged her signature.
    Well, she obviously already knew about the forged signature part, but the rest of it concerned her a lot less than who my father was concerned me, right?
    So I braced myself as I tiptoed into the apartment. I'd find some way around the truth. I didn't exactly know
how
, I'd just have to wing it.
    “Grams?” I whispered. “I'm home.”
    “In here, sweetheart!” she called from her bedroom.
    Sweetheart? Was this a new tactic? Or did she really not know?
    I went into her bedroom and found her clipping her toenails. “Hey,” I said, trying to act casual as I sat on the edge of her bed.
    “How was school?”
    Hmmm. Was this a test?
    I tried to analyze the tone of her voice. Seemed calm. Normal.
    So I tried to sound normal, too, as I said, “Fine.”
    “Nothing to report?”
    Uh-oh. Was she fishing? Was this a new, sly granny strategy?
    My brain scrambled around for the right response and finally settled on, “Uh, not really.”
    She switched feet and started clipping the big toe of her left foot. “These get so tough when you get older,” she grumbled. “They're like toe tusks.”
    I laughed. “Toe tusks?”
    “That's right.” She lopped off a chunk. “Look at that. It's hideous.”
    So there we were, talking about toenails. Not dead birds, not ditching class, not forging notes.
    Toenails.
    And I wanted to ask her, Why did you call Mrs. Willawago's? What was on your mind? Did the school call and ask you about the note I forged? Did you pretend to be Mom? But she just sat there, clipping away. And I didn't want to give myself away by asking anything, so I just sat there watching. Wondering.
    Sweating.
    “So,” she finally said when she was done. “Marissa called earlier. She was concerned about you.” She looked me square in the eye. “She said you weren't feeling well and that you were acting strangely.”
    I looked down.
    Shrugged.
    Toed the carpet with my high-top.
    “Are you okay?” Grams asked. “Did something happen with Casey?”
    I snapped to attention. “No!”
    “Heather?”
    I shrugged. “Nah.”
    “But Marissa said—”
    “I was just kinda in a frump, okay? Do I always have to be cheerful?”
    She hesitated, then tried to be nonchalant as she