Against All Odds Read Online Free Page A

late.”
    While the boys were congratulating themselves and packing up their things, the spy spirited away through the trees.

    Back on Green Bottle Street, the three friends manoeuvred the plane into Squeak’s garage, stowing it carefully. Squeak pushed on the bridge of his goggles.
    “Don’t forget the competition starts at nine a.m., so we’ll have to leave at seven-thirty at the latest,” he said. “That gives us forty minutes to get to Starky Hill and enough time to set up.”
    Itchy complained under his breath about the early start time. Boney saluted, then cut through the hedge at the back of Squeak’s house to his aunt and uncle’s yard.He was hoping his aunt hadn’t noticed he was late for dinner.
    But he had no such luck. She was standing in the kitchen, red gingham tea towel over one arm, wringing her hands. His uncle sat at the kitchen table, looking cagey.
    “William Boneham!” his aunt barked the second Boney stepped through the door. “Where have you been?”
    Boney opened his mouth to answer but his aunt cut him off sharply.
    “Supper should have started by now! Do you think I’m running a restaurant? And what have you been up to? You’re a filthy mess. Just look at your hair!”
    Boney ran his hand through his hair, glancing warily at the stove to where a big silver pot stood waiting on the burner. He didn’t mind missing dinner, especially when his aunt made one of her awful soup-can recipes. He tried to appear casual. “Oh, that’s okay, Auntie, I’m really not that hungry.”
    “Nonsense!” she snapped.
    “Now, Mildred,” Boney’s uncle sputtered through his moustache. “Boys will be boys.”
    “Oh phooey,” his aunt said. “Anyone with any common sense would appreciate a nice, warm meal and actually show up on time for dinner. Your friend Itchy understands.”
    Boney stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”
    His aunt straightened the gingham tea towel on her arm. “He’s been here at least three times in the last half hour, leering through the kitchen window like some kind of cotton-headed vampire. I gave him at least half a dozen oatmeal cookies but he just keeps coming back for more. The boy must have a tapeworm, he eats so much.” She paused, tilting her head. “But he wouldn’t take any of my casserole …”
    Boney opened his mouth to speak but his aunt cut him off again.
    “Then Mrs. Sheider called, complaining that Itchy was gaping through her windows as well. But she didn’t have her glasses on at first and she thought he was a prowler so she let the dogs out to chase him off. What on earth has gotten into that boy? Doesn’t Itchy’s mother cook?”
    Boney glanced at his uncle for confirmation but his uncle simply looked the other way, leaving him on his own to deal with his aunt. “Uhhh … that’s not possible,” Boney said. “Itchy was with me and Squeak all afternoon. We weren’t bothering anyone. We were up at Starky Hill.”
    His aunt scowled. “Don’t argue with me, young man. It’s rude.”
    “But Auntie …”
    His aunt silenced him with a wave of her wooden spoon. “Not another word. Go wash, then take a seat and eat.”
    Boney knew better than to protest further. He washed in the bathroom, then returned and pulled a chair from the table, sitting obediently while his aunt busied herself reheating his dinner. She huffed and puffed, clattering dishes and pots in a show of irritation. When at last she placed Boney’s plate in front of him, she stood sentry, waiting for his reaction.
    Boney stared at the steaming pile of grey glop on his plate. He didn’t dare ask what it was. All he knew was that it must be horrible if even Itchy didn’t want any. Looking mournfully at his uncle, he tentatively lifted his fork, his hand shaking as he stared at the mound of goo. With a quick breath, Boney stabbed his fork into the glop and raised a heaping portion to his mouth. He stuffed the food in, chewed twice, and swallowed. His eyes widened.