The Christmas Rat by Avi Read Free Book Online

boring, I picked up a book. Reading wasn’t any better. I was too restless to concentrate.
    I went into my parents’ room and pulled out my main Christmas present from under their bed, the radio-controlled car. I unpacked it carefully, making sure I didn’t break the cardboard box.
    The Rebound 4 × 4 Jet Car was about ten inches long and had these four very large wheels, a red streamlined car body on the top, an equally streamlined blue truck—complete with cargo bay—on the bottom. There was also a control box with double toggle controls and a wire antenna. Having used Pete’s model—the Turbo—lots of times, I knew how to work this one.
    I slipped some batteries in—a red light came on to show they were good—set it on the ground, clicked the ON switch, and shifted the two toggles. Right off, the car zipped around the room, turning, flipping, spinning, shifting from one direction to another. Cool. It cheered me up.
    Then I got bothered. After all, it was supposed to be my parents’ Christmas gift to me. I repacked it carefully and put it back under the bed just the way it had been.
    At eleven o’clock, I decided I would take the money Dad had given me and go to the arcade. If I played the games I knew well—like Rock Team Road Racer—I could string out the ten bucks for at least a couple of hours. I mean, it was something to do. I called my father’s store and left him a message about where I was going.
    Dressed for the cold, I got on the elevator and pushed the LOBBY button. The thing made its regular going-down noises. But suddenly I had to see what was going on down in the basement. Impulsively, I pushed the BASEMENT button.
    Since I had pushed the LOBBY button first, it stopped there. A guy was about to get on, but when I said, “I’m going down,” he quickly said, “I’ll wait,” and backed out. It was as if the basement was a place to avoid. Or maybe it was me.
    Though the lights were on, the place seemed empty. But as I walked around, I saw small white paper cups set against the walls. In each cup there were brown pellets. I picked up one of the cups to take a closer look. Sniffed it, too. It had a bitter smell. I was pretty sure it was poison, which meant Anje had been there. I put the cup down and hurried back to the elevator.
    I kept thinking about Anje. His bright eyes, pale face, long blond hair. He reminded me of someone: I couldn’t figure out who. But why did the guy care so much about killing one rat? The animal was probably only coming in from the cold. As soon as the freeze was over, I was sure the rat would go away.
    I sort of guessed that none of that mattered to Anje. The guy wanted the rat dead. Hadn’t he said he liked killing? The arcade, I reminded myself. Get the rat stuff out of your mind!
    I went outside. Man, it was frigid.
    I had gone about two blocks in the direction of the arcade when I came to a sudden stop. I was so upset I was almost crying. And I knew why. It was the whole exterminator-rat thing. The thought of Anje coming into our apartment building—probably using his own keys—to kill that rat really got to me.
    Standing there on the freezing street I decided it wasn’t just that I didn’t like Anje, I didn’t want that rat killed. After all, it was Christmas. . . . People were supposed to be happy, full of life and love. Know what I mean? But this . . . all of sudden I had to do something.
    I wheeled around and, walking fast, I went back to the basement. I gathered up all the cups and dumped them—along with the poison pellets—into one of those ash cans.
    Only then did I go to the arcade. I loved that place. Bright, flashing lights. Sounds of explosions, shots, crashes. Like being inside a cartoon action show. I was feeling so good I stretched out my ten bucks for two and half hours of play. Awesome! Even better, in Time Crisis, I came in with