The Friendship Song Read Online Free Page B

all its junk. For some reason Gus had welded together a few dozen of those old metal lawn chairs, all different kinds, into rows of six each, like big metal sofas, and they were in there too. They made it even harder to get around. Anyway, Dad walked in by another aisle, past some metal buckets and washtubs and things, like it was no trouble at all.
    â€œHi,” he said to Rawnie with a smile. When he looked at me the smile changed into his mischief grin.
    â€œGhosties and ghoulies gonna get you if you don’t scram to bed, Skiddo,” he told me.
    I felt glad to see him, and better because he was there with me, and mad at him, all at the same time. See, when I was a little kid he used to read me picture books, and my favorite was the one about the ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night. So when he wanted me to go to bed, all he had to say was, “Ghosties and ghoulies,” and I’d scream and run. We made a game of it. But right then I didn’t appreciate it because, first of all, I wasn’t a little kid anymore and, second of all, I didn’t want to hear about ghosties and ghoulies when I was standing in the middle of Gus’s spooky backyard. I didn’t like being called Skiddo in front of Rawnie either.
    â€œ Dad ,” I complained.
    â€œOkay, earlies and schoolies. You’ve got to get up tomorrow morning.”
    Why do parents always tell kids stuff the kids already know? It wasn’t like I’d forgotten I had school in the morning. Not hardly. “ Dad …” I wanted to tell him I was not stupid, but then I decided to forget it, because I had a thought. “Dad, did you hear music a little bit ago?”
    â€œMusic? What kind?”
    â€œSort of rock music.”
    â€œSort of?”
    â€œOh, never mind.” I could see he hadn’t. “Dad, why does Gus have all this, uh, stuff?”
    I was being a little rude on purpose, talking about Gus like she wasn’t there. Dad gave me a look. “Good grief, Harper, ask her .”
    Gus had come over to stand right by me. She didn’t make me ask the question again, though, the way she could have. She just said, “Do you want the truth or the excuse?”
    The way she said it made it funny somehow, and I almost smiled. But Rawnie was standing right by me, and she didn’t look like she wanted to smile, so I didn’t. I said, “Truth!”
    â€œTruth is, I like junk.”
    I probably could have figured that out by myself. Rawnie said, “And what’s the excuse?”
    â€œThe excuse is, I’m a folk artist. Really. A guy from the museum came and said so. That stuff up front is art, and that makes me a folk.”
    She made a rubber-mouth face, and I had to smile. In fact, I laughed. Rawnie smiled too, but she said, “I got to get home.”
    â€œI’ll go with you,” I said. “Dad, I got to walk Rawnie home.”
    Gus said, “Can you two manage okay?” but we pretended we didn’t hear her.
    Even though it was dark, we didn’t have any trouble finding our way across the creek. We didn’t say anything until we were on the other side. Then Rawnie said, “Your dad’s nice.”
    â€œYeah.” My dad really does put up with me pretty good, considering. “Except he drives me crazy sometimes,” I added.
    â€œThey all do. You should hear my dad yell when I leave something on the sofa in the TV room.”
    I said, “Mine doesn’t yell much, but he sort of hovers. Like I’m still his little bitty girl. He says he wants me to be something special, but how can I when he never wants to let me do anything?”
    Rawnie sort of bopped and hip-hopped a few steps and said, “Well, at least he doesn’t yell. I think he’s nice. Cute , too.”
    â€œUh-huh.” He is. Dad has honey blond hair and a nice face. I have pukey hair and pale weird eyes and