Moxie and the Art of Rule Breaking Read Online Free Page B

think she would have noticed if The Redhead had come in wearing my clothes—her facewas a knot of aggravation and she was snapping her patented One-Syllable Angry Responses into her phone:
    “Yup.” A pause. I slid the notebook over to her.
    “Sure.” Another pause while she listened. She stuffed the notebook into her purse without even glancing at me.
    “Fine.” She clicked off the call and slapped the phone onto the table. I knew better than to say anything—speaking to her before she was ready would cause her to redirect her irritation at me. No, thank you.
    Finally, she sighed and leaned back in her seat.
    “Do-over. We’re eating alone,” she said. A pause, during which relief poured through me. “Richard has to cover for that idiot Sammy again.”
    “Okay,” I said, not sure why she was so over-the-top about Richard having to work late—she certainly had her fair share of bizarre hours at the funeral home—but happy to have been spared his presence. I was so happy, I almost forgot about the slip of paper in my pocket, which all of a sudden felt like it weighed four pounds.
    And once I almost-but-didn’t forget about it, I couldn’t
not
think about it. A few times I almost went into the bathroom to read it, but I chickened out. What if it said something awful? But, on the other hand, what if we were in danger if I
didn’t
read it?
    Finally, Mom went to the bathroom. I’d barely touched my burger and fries, and as soon as she turned the corner, I slid my plate away and pulled the slip out of my pocket. For some reason, reading it at the table—in front of all the otherpeople having dinner—felt safer than reading it locked in a bathroom stall.
    Surprisingly, the handwriting was bubbly, like those girls’ in fifth grade who heart and star their
i
’s. And all that was written was one word:
    Liar.
    My heart locked up in my chest, and for about two very long seconds I was afraid that it would never start again. I stared at the note.
    It wasn’t for my mom, that much was clear. The Redhead had totally planted this for me. But what did she think I was lying about? Who was home? Where Grumps was—
    Oh.
    “Sweet chocolate bunnies,”
I hissed. I was a complete idiot.
    The Redhead had followed me to Alton Rivers.

    Mom came back to the table a minute or so later, and by that time I’d stuffed the note into my pocket, was breathing regularly, and was seething mad—at both myself and my annoying psycho stalker—and nearly vibrating with anxiety about Grumps. Was he okay? Should I tell my mom? When Mom asked if I was ready, it took me a second to figure out what she meant.
    “Sure,” I said. And then…
    “Hey,” I added, “it’s still early. Would you mind dropping me off at the Arboretum? Ollie wanted me to meet him.” Maybe his parents would still let him out, and hanging with him would help me figure out what to do—andthere would be no Mom around, so I could panic in private.
    “Okay.” She sighed. “But call him now so I know that he’ll be there.”
    I grinned and whipped out my cell, grateful that I’d remembered to bring it. No phone would’ve been the deal breaker.
    “Thanks, Mom.”

    She left me and my bike at the Water Street entrance and made me promise to be home no later than eight. The Arboretum, or the Arbs, as a lot of people call it, is a huge park just at the edge of our neighborhood. There are all these paths and trees and flowers, and people go there for picnics and festivals and just to hang out. Rumor is that older kids sneak in after dark to party and make out. Based on the number of beer bottles we’ve seen while looking for caches, I guessed the rumors were true.
    For Ollie, the Arbs is like Treasure Island. Geocachers love the park because there are so many cool hiding places.
    He was waiting for me at the bottom of Hemlock Hill. I spotted him from the top—short, spiky black hair, gray hoodie, jeans—facing the opposite way, perfect for sneaking up on. I