Hunter Moran Hangs Out Read Online Free Page A

missing. Now the kidnapper is turning into a thief.
    The noise is closer, earsplitting. We look up.
    And up.
    Whatever is there is well hidden. We walk around the trees, squinting. I can see a couple of boards at the top of one of the highest trees.
    A lookout tower? It slants to one side, as if the whole thing will topple over any minute.
    Sarah Yulefski leans over the edge. She’s mostly hidden by the leaves. It’s an improvement.
    â€œExcellent view from up here,” she calls down. “I built it wide so there’s plenty of room.”
    Zack and I shrug. Should we build a platform of our own or become partners with Sarah Yulefski? Either option wears me out.
    Zack leans closer. “Isn’t that our wood? So that makes it our platform.”
    â€œHey, Yulefski, where’d you get the wood?” I yell up, trying to remind her that she’s actually a thief.
    â€œSome idiots left it here,” she says. “Most of it was rotten, anyway.”
    I open my mouth to tell her it’s our property, but what’s the use? We don’t want the whole world to hear that we’re the idiots.
    â€œWant to join in?” she asks. “A buck a day.”
    â€œYou’re crazy,” Zack says.
    â€œListen,” she says. “This was a tough job. I had to get my brother, Jerry, to help. We used ropes and—”
    â€œAll right,” I say. “We’ll just have to owe you.”
    I hear footsteps and look over my shoulder. Bradley the Bully is coming along, muttering to himself.
    Most of the time, he hangs out at Gussie’s Gym; he wants to be a world champion wrestler someday. What he doesn’t have in teeth he makes up for in muscle. He could probably take Sister Appolonia right now.
    I heard her call him devious.
    Devious is right. He has a Vinny’s Vegetables shopping cart in his garage filled with potato chip bags and weight-lifting stuff. Probably all stolen.
    Get too close to him and he wraps one beefy arm around your neck until you beg for mercy. Zack and I scramble up the tree like a pair of mice escaping from a fox and throw ourselves onto the platform. It rocks a little, then settles back.
    Yulefski has outdone herself.
    A pair of binoculars hangs from a rotten branch above. A notebook hangs from another branch. Two thick books rest on the edge.
    Yulefski has a pencil behind each ear. “If you’re going to observe,” she says, “you have to take notes.” She points down as Bradley passes by underneath.
    He never looks up. He goes straight to the pond.
    â€œHe might even be the kidnapper,” I say.
    â€œI never heard of a twelve-year-old kidnapper,” Zack says. “He can’t even drive a getaway car.”
    Yulefski reaches for her binoculars. “You have to lookwith one eye,” she says. “I cracked the other lens over my brother Jerry’s head.” She draws in her breath. “I can’t believe it.”
    â€œWhat?” Zack and I say together. But I don’t need binoculars to see what Bradley’s doing.
    He’s poking around in the pond with a big stick. And what does he come up with?
    â€œIs that what I think it is?” Zack forgets to whisper.
    I swallow. From here it looks like a head of hair, curly, dark, swamped with muddy water.
    I remember what Bradley said that time, “Thaw a floater mythelf.”
    Never mind a world champion wrestler. He’s turning into a murderer.
    I lean a little too far over to watch. Yulefski’s books topple over the end of the platform and crash onto the ground below.

Chapter 8
    We lie on the skinny planks, hardly breathing. With one eye, I peer between the spaces and catch a glimpse of Bradley down below.
    He looks around, squinting. One huge hand is closed in a fist that would knock your teeth out. The other holds the stringy hair up high.
    Is there a head attached to that hair?
    If not, where is the head?
    Yulefski opens her