Welcome to Fred (The Fred Books) by Brad Whittington Read Free Book Online Page A

dropped a robe on him or something, so Noah said that stuff about Ham. Cursed him.”
    “What?” M stopped, again. “Where did you hear that, man?”
    I walked back to him. “It’s in the Bible.”
    “Really? There’s stuff like that in the Bible?”
    “Oh, yeah. All kinds of stuff like that. Even weirder.”
    “Really?”
    “Really. That’s not the half of it.”
    He considered for awhile, shrugged his shoulders, and we resumed our walk to the library.
    “I still think she’s a witch,” he said.
    I pushed him and he slipped on the ice, dragging me down with him. We wrestled in the slush and arrived at the library a little soggier for the trip. I got three Hardy Boys mysteries and
Kidnapped
. M picked up
More Homer Price
and
Sounder
.
    On the way back, M introduced a topic that had never come up between us.
    “I bet I know who you like.” M kicked a can exposed by the melting snow.
    I immediately kicked the can back and said, “Who?”
    “Pam.” He kicked the can back to me.
    I faltered and missed the can completely. Every boy had some girl he liked, but it was usually a secret he guarded more jealously than his middle name, assuming, of course, he had an embarrassing middle name, like Maurice. (Apologies to any guys out there named Maurice, but at least your middle name isn’t Shirley, like one guy I knew! No apologies to any guys named Shirley.)
    I liked M, but he was treading a little too close for my comfort. I hesitated to divulge the truth, but to deny it seemed to betray the girl of my secret affection, and my sense of honor shrank from that dastardly deed. I self-consciously admitted to M that I was entranced by the plain but intelligent Pam.
    “And Bingo was his name-o!” M cried just before slipping to the ground in a wail of laughter while attempting a pirouette in the slush.
    Of course I wasn’t giving this information away for free. After he got back up and picked up all his books, I kicked the can back at him and demanded a corresponding disclosure.
    “Guess,” he said, with a kick.
    I mentally ran through the Negro girls in the class and picked a likely name.
    “Nope.” Kick.
    I picked another.
    “Nope.” Kick.
    I named them all.
    “Nope.” Kick.
    I gave up in exasperation. I figured it must be someone in another grade, and I didn’t know many kids in other classes. “So, who is it?” I demanded.
    “Terri,” he said with a grin.
    I was stunned. “Terri?”
    “Yeah, Terri.”
    “Oh.” There was no denying Terri was cute, but she was also white. The fact was so glaringly obvious I wondered why M hadn’t noticed. I walked in silence for awhile, kicking the can when it came into my lane. Because he was my friend, I felt I should say something. But also, because he was my friend, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I didn’t know how to do both.
    “Well . . . I don’t . . . I mean, it’s not . . . well, I’m not sure that would work out,” I said lamely.
    “Why not?” he asked.
    “Well, because . . . you know.” I kept my eyes safely on the can.
    There was silence for a moment. “Oh, you mean because—”
    “Yeah,” I said in a rush, feeling vaguely ashamed without knowing why. We walked on in silence for a long time, the can abandoned behind us in the slush.
    We finally arrived on our block. Our library visits had developed into a tradition. The ritual was usually concluded with us repairing to an attic, his or mine as the whim took us, to read for awhile, often with refreshment smuggled up the stairs. This time we stopped on the corner, awkwardly not turning toward either house.
    The impasse was broken by M. “You know, Moses’ wife was black.”
    “What?”
    “Looks like there’s some parts of the Bible you don’t know that much about, man.”
    That decided our destination. A few minutes later we were in Dad’s study, still in our coats, steaming slightly on a heater grill, waiting to be noticed. He ceased his labors and peered over large black-frame