The Skeleton Tree Read Online Free Page B

said. “
I
would have caught it.”
    “You couldn’t even move. You were like a zombie.” I glared up at him. “Why were you on the boat anyway? How do you know my uncle Jack?”
    Frank just shrugged.
    “Who
are
you?”
    I hated looking up at him. He stared back until I had to turn away. Then he laughed and said, “I’m your guardian angel, Chrissy. I’ve been sent to Earth to save you.”
    “Yeah, whatever.”
    I went on toward the north again, along the narrow strip between cliff and trees. But Frank barreled past and led the way. His jacket, still soaking wet, dripped water. His boots squelched with every step.
    Oh, I envied his boots. My socks already had holes in the heels, and my toes poked out the front. Stones and roots jabbed into my feet. “We could take turns with those boots,” I said.
    “Yeah, I guess we
could,
” said Frank. But he kept walking.
    Where the cliffs jutted, we took shortcuts through the forest, down trails that deer had made. Frank liked to bend the branches and let them spring back at me, so I learned to stay a bit behind. He plucked berries from the bushes and shoved them in his mouth.
    “You shouldn’t eat those,” I told him.
    “Why not?”
    “They could be poisonous.”
    He laughed his annoying laugh and kept eating.
    “Didn’t you ever hear of poisonous berries?” I asked.
    A heavy branch snapped from his hand and swung toward me. “Didn’t anyone ever show you the good ones? Didn’t your dad do that?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t know.” It was a stupid question. “He just didn’t.”
    Frank grunted.
    “You don’t go grazing for berries in the city,” I told him. “Where do
you
live?”
    He wouldn’t answer that either. But he was desperate to show he knew more than me. “The purple ones are salal,” he said. “The red ones are huckleberries. So are the blue ones, I think.”
    He stopped and broke off a sprig of red berries. He peeled away a handful them and shoved them into his mouth. Juice dribbled down his chin as he held out the branch. “Try some,” he said.
    “I’ll wait a bit.”
    “Moron.” He shrugged and started walking. I watched him carefully, in case he began to stagger. But the foul taste of seaweed was still in my mouth, and I ached with hunger. So after a while I tried the berries. The salal tasted bitter, but the huckleberries were sweet and juicy. They took away my thirst, but I felt as hungry as ever.
    Our clothes dried as we walked. Frank took off his jacket and carried it over his shoulder, and in the miles that passed we never said another two words. I watched with dread as the sun sank lower, and I wished that
my
father had been more like Frank’s. No one had ever taught
me
how to find water on a cliff, or food in a forest.
    When Frank stopped to drink from a little stream, I kept trudging along, thinking about things. The forest grew dark, and when I looked back, Frank was not there.
    I called his name. But he didn’t answer. I had no idea how far I’d gone without him. I started back—at a walk, and then a run—and I found Frank kneeling by the same stream. In front of him lay a little pile of twigs and moss. He was busy scraping sticks together.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “What does it look like, moron?” He didn’t even lift his head. “I’m making a fire.”
    “You could have told me you stopped,” I said.
    “Why?” he asked, still not looking up.
    “Why not?” I said. “I got you to shore. I saved your life. We have to stay together.”
    “Why?” he asked again.
    “ ’Cause that’s what you’re supposed to do!” I shouted.
    “Why?”
    I felt like picking up one of the stones from the river and bashing his stupid head. I plopped down on the grass and watched him.
    I had always thought that lighting a fire would be pretty easy, but I had never seen anyone actually try. Though Frank rubbed the sticks furiously, I saw no spark or plume of smoke. He had a serious,