When Zachary Beaver Came to Town by Kimberly Willis Holt Read Free Book Online

trailer and starts hitting it with sticks. Over their pounding, Mason yells, “Hey, fat boy! Show your face!”
    Something boils inside me. I remember when kids like them beat up on me just because they could. I wouldn’t snitch, and since Dad was against it, I wouldn’t fight back either. But today is different. Today we’re soldiers, fighting for Zachary.
    Thinking fast, Cal and I climb down the ladder and scoop up rocks from Ferris’s rock pile out back. They’re not big rocks, but from the roof they could sting the little brats’ arms, backs, and behinds. Using our shirts as baskets, we carry the rocks to the roof.
    Cal and I stand next to each other, our legs apart like camera tripods, our arms set in pitching positions. “Ready.”
    â€œAim.” I focus on Mason’s butt.
    â€œFire.” My rock sails through the air and hits a perfect target.
    Mason’s hands fly to his porky bottom. “Ow!” He looks up at the roof, shading his eyes with one hand.

    When Cal hits Simon Davis’s leg, Simon takes off crying, his hand pressed against his thigh. Cal trots in place. “And this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home!”
    I throw again, this time aiming at James Rutherford’s arm. I miss. Then I hear it. Glass breaking. The window shatters, and the boys scatter in different directions.
    â€œRun!” yells Cal, and we do, leaving our bikes next to the ladder.
    Â 
    Â 
    It’s Thursday, and I wake up to the radio DJ yelling, “One more day until TGIF!”
    Two things weigh heavy on my mind—Zachary’s broken window and Mom’s big night tonight. Nashville time is one hour ahead of us, but she’s probably sleeping in. I picture her lying in a dark hotel room, eye mask covering her eyes, Dad’s worn-out socks on her hands to lock in her Avon hand cream, and empty orange juice cans she uses for rollers crowded on her head. It’s the best way, she says, to get big hair. I say it’s the best way to get a big headache.
    Since summer nights are usually cool in Antler, we sleep with the windows open and leave them that way until noon. But this morning the air conditioner is
already running at full speed, so I get up and shut the window. Just as I’m about to flick the lock, I see the sheriff’s car pull up in front. Sheriff Levi gets out and walks toward our house. Duke hangs his head out the window, his tongue draping from his mouth.
    My stomach plunges. Zachary Beaver must have squealed. Maybe he saw us running away. Or it might have been nosy Earline, looking out her real estate office window. She has a full view of the trailer from her desk. I thought real estate agents answered the phone and showed homes to people, but Earline seems to do anything but that. Once I walked by her office window and found Earline with her feet propped up on the desk, painting her toenails. Cotton balls stuck between each toe.
    From the living room Dad calls, “Toby!”
    I feel sick. I yank on a pair of shorts and run downstairs. Sheriff Levi’s arms are folded across his chest, and except for his usual eye twitch, his face looks blank. He pulls off his hat and rakes his fingers through his wavy hair.
    I check out Dad’s face, but it doesn’t tell me anything except he hasn’t shaved yet. “Toby, Sheriff Levi has something to ask you.”
    He’s heard. Maybe I should confess. But Cal would get in trouble, and I’m not a snitch like Malcolm.

    Sheriff Levi clears his throat, and his right eye twitches like crazy. “Toby, I have a favor to ask of you.”
    My stomach feels like a glob of lava in a lava lamp, slowly floating up toward my throat.
    â€œToby, reckon you and Cal could accompany me to that sideshow trailer?”
    I don’t know what to say. My knees shake, and the sheriff’s eye twitches.
    â€œToby,” Dad says, “the sheriff is asking you