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

asked, “Maybe it's puberty?”
    “Gra-ams!”
    “Samantha, we all go through it.”
    Well, fine. If she wanted to think I was moody and frumpy and irritable because of puberty, that beat her knowing the truth. So I shrugged and said, “Can we not talk about it?”
    “Would you be more comfortable talking to your mother about it?”
    I rolled my eyes.
    She laughed.
    “Okay then,” she said. “I'm glad that's all it is. Marissa made it sound so … well, anyway, you should give her a call, let her know you're all right.”
    I told her I would, but I didn't. Instead, I just moped around. And let me tell you, there was a raging battle going on inside my head. I'd killed Mrs. Ambler's lovebird.
    Scratch that—her
adored
bird.
    And I'd accidentally framed my archenemy for it.
    It was beautiful!
    Brilliant!
    Beyond any payback I could ever have plotted on my own.
    So what was wrong with me? After the year I'd had with her, Heather deserved a
hundred
brilliant paybacks.
    But the dark spot on my heart seemed to be spreading. Weighing me down. Casting a shadow over everything I felt or thought or did. I'd plotted ways to lie to Grams when all she was, was concerned. I didn't want to talk to Marissa because I couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly I felt like a stranger. To her. To Dot and Holly.
    To me.
    I went to bed early, thinking that maybe I'd feel better in the morning. Maybe time would make all of this fade away. People would quit asking questions. Quit wondering. After all, no one knew what I'd done.
    No one but me.

Marissa did try calling again, but I just pretended to be asleep when Grams answered the phone. I wish I
had
been asleep because my brain kept fluttering with thoughts about Tango. I could see his broken little body in my mind. Could almost feel his soft little feathers in my hand. Poor thing! I'd just left him under an abandoned jacket in the closet. He deserved better than that! Maybe I should retrieve him. Bury him. I mean, what would happen to him if he just stayed there?
    Would he shrivel up?
    Decompose?
    So I had one of those nights where you can't turn your brain off and every time you look at the clock it's half an hour later, until the hour before you're
supposed
to wake up and then you finally,
finally
fall asleep. Waking up after a night like that is like diving after a twenty-pound brick at the bottom of the deep end. It's hard enough to touch, let alone bring to the surface.
    But anyway, at least one thing was back to normal—I was running late for school. And you'd think that being all out of breath from riding my skateboard so hard would have made walking past Mrs. Ambler's closet easier, but itdidn't. I mean, panting and pumping blood around for oxygen sort of supersedes panting and pumping blood because of nerves, but when I walked into homeroom, I got like a double dose of panting and pumping.
    I tried not to look at the closet. Tried not to look at Marissa. Or Holly. Or Heather. Tried not to look at … the substitute? Oh no! Was Mrs. Ambler so wiped out because of her missing bird that she couldn't bear to come to school?
    I stumbled over to my desk, light-headed and wobbly. I stole a look at the closet. Had anyone been inside? I looked again. Had I left the door open that far?
    The final bell rang, but instead of clanging in my ear, it sounded miles away. Kids' voices sounded like they were under water. Everything seemed a little … fuzzy.
    The substitute ran through the morning routine. Roll. Pledge. Announcements. Through it all I stole looks at the closet. Was the bird still there? Had Mrs. Ambler found him? Was that why she was absent?
    “Sammy!”
    I jumped. “Huh?”
    Marissa was kneeling beside my desk. She laughed, “It's just me.”
    “Oh, hi.”
    “Hey, why didn't you call me back last night? You're not mad at me, are you?”
    “Mad at you? No!”
    She laughed again. “Well, good, 'cause guess what?”
    “What?” I asked, trying to forget about the