Read an Excerpt

1.
Arthur
 
Annie was swinging by herself when she noticed the curly-haired boy two houses down. She dragged her feet to stop the swing.
   The boy was barefoot, wearing only a lime-green T-shirt and a pair of baggy yellow shorts. His right fist was pressed against his mouth. Sucking his thumb. His left hand gripped the ear of a floppy stuffed rabbit. The rabbit’s hind feet dragged along the curb as the boy’s feet slapped the asphalt, each step decisive. She couldn’t see his eyes from that distance, but she was sure he was looking right at her.
   The boy veered toward the curb and looked down at the sewer grate across the street from Mr. Wendell’s house. He bent at the hips, thumb still in his mouth, bringing his face to within a few inches of the iron bars, peering into the darkness. After a few seconds he straightened, looked at Annie, and continued toward her.
   As he came closer, she saw that his yellow shorts were printed with purple cartoon dinosaurs, and his hair was not exactly blond, it was more orangish. Annie had heard that color called “strawberry blond,” even though it didn’t look much like strawberries. The boy stepped up onto the curb and stomped across the grass to stand right in front of her.
   “Hello,” Annie said.
   The boy did not reply. He just stood there with his rabbit clutched in his fist and his thumb in his mouth, staring at her through large, pale blue eyes. Annie slid off the swing. The chains rattled.
   “What’s your name?” she asked.
   The boy stared up at her wordlessly.
   “How old are you?” she asked.
   The boy eased the thumb from his mouth. It was wrinkly from being sucked on. He held out his hand, fingers spread wide.
   “Five?” Annie said doubtfully.
   The boy nodded. He seemed awfully small for a five-year-old.
   “I’m ten,” Annie said. “I mean, I will be. Tomorrow’s my birthday.”
   The boy was not impressed.
   “Where do you live?” she asked.
   The boy seemed about to say something, then changed his mind and stuck his thumb back in his mouth. Annie wondered if there was something wrong with him. Shouldn’t a five-year-old be able to talk?
   “I bet your mommy and daddy are looking for you.” She offered him her hand. The boy looked from her face to her hand. He took his thumb out of his mouth and clasped her fingers. His wet, wrinkly thumb pressed into her palm.
   “Maybe you live in the Andersons’ house,” she said, pointing across the two vacant lots at the next house over. The Andersons had moved away last month. A new family had just moved in, but Annie hadn’t met them yet. She set off down the street slowly, so the boy could keep up. He walked alongside her, gripping her hand, bare feet slapping twice for each one of her steps. She felt very grown-up, helping a lost child find his way home.
   Across the street, Mr. Wendell was weeding his flower garden. His orange cat, TomTom, had found a patch of sunlight on the front step. He was licking his paw and rubbing his face over and over again.
   When they reached the sewer, the boy stopped and pulled his hand free. He got down on his hands and knees and pressed his face to the iron grate.
   “What are you looking at?”
   “Bunnies,” the boy said. Annie bent over and looked through the grate. She saw nothing but darkness. She moved her face closer and heard something, a sound like paper rustling, and the plop, plop, plop of water dripping. It smelled like rotten leaves and dirty socks.
   She took the boy’s hand again and helped him to his feet. A streak of rust ran across his cheek where it had touched the grate. Annie wiped it off with the back of her hand.
   “There are no bunnies down there,” she said. “Come on.”
   They were almost to the house when the front door opened. A woman came out. Her hair was the same orangish color as the boy’s but not so curly.
   “Arthur!” she exclaimed, and ran toward them.
   Annie let go of the boy’s hand. His mother scooped him up.
   “Where have you been?” she asked him, then looked at Annie with an expression that was both suspicious and grateful. “Where did you find him?”
   “He came to my house,” Annie said. She pointed at her house.
   “Oh!” said the woman. “You live in the tower house?”
Annie nodded. Her house had a big brick tower set into one corner. The tower was taller than the house.
   “It’s the oldest house in Pond Tree Acres,” Annie said.
   “It’s a very fine house.” The woman smiled.
   “My papa’s uncle’s uncle built it. He was a farmer.
   Mr. Wendell says it looks like a beer can stuck on a dollhouse. Mr. Wendell lives across the street.” She pointed. “He has a cat named TomTom. He’s always fixing things. If you need anything fixed, Mr. Wendell can fix it.”
   “Good to know! We just moved to the neighborhood. I’m Emily Golden, Arthur’s mom. You can call me Emily.”
   “My name is Annike Klimas, but you can call me Annie.”
   “It’s very nice to meet you, Annie,” said Emily Golden.
   “Our street is named after my family. That’s why it’s called Klimas Avenue.”
   “Is that a fact!”
   “Papa used to own all the land around here, but when I was born he sold most of it to Lucky Key Homes so they would build houses so there would be other kids around. My best friend is Fiona. Her daddy is a doctor. They live in the gray house.” Annie pointed down the street. “But she’s up north at summer camp. Fiona is going into fifth grade. I’d be in fifth grade, too, but I’m homeschooled now, so I don’t really have a grade.”
   Emily Golden laughed. “My goodness, you are a fount of information!”
   “Miss Mekas says I talk a lot.”
   “Miss Mekas?”
   “She’s my aukle.”
   “Your uncle?”
   “My aukle. She’s from Litvania.”
   “Litvania? Where is that?”
   “On the other side of the world. Miss Mekas lives with us and takes care of me when Papa is working. My mama is dead.”
   “Oh! I see. I’m sorry.”
   “Do you have a cat?”
   “No. Arthur would love a pet, but he keeps me busy enough all on his own.”
   Arthur was squirming in his mother’s embrace. She put him down.
   “Arthur told me he’s five.”
   “Yes.” She looked down at her son. “Arthur is small for his age, but he’ll catch up. He likes to take his time about things.”
   “He doesn’t talk much.”
   “Only when he has something to say.” She rubbed the top of Arthur’s head. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
   The boy had nothing to say.
   “I should probably go home,” Annie said. “Miss Mekas will wonder where I am.” She started to back away. The boy tried to follow, but his mother grabbed his arm.
   “It was nice to meet you, Annie. Thank you for bringing Arthur home.”
   “It was nice to meet you, too,” Annie said. She couldn’t bring herself to call the woman Emily.
   As she walked away, she could feel the boy’s eyes on her. She stopped at the sewer grate and looked back. Arthur and his mother were gone. She bent over the grate and wrinkled her nose at the dank odor. She peered through the slots and caught a glimpse of something—two shiny black eyes, a flash of yellow teeth, a blur of dark fur against the black nothingness—and it was gone.
   Annie jumped back, her heart pounding. A creepy, itchy feeling scurried up her back and down her arms and tingled her fingers. She squeezed her hands into fists and backed away.
   There was something in the sewer.
   It was not a bunny.