Footer Davis Probably Is Crazy by Susan Vaught Page A

of teachers were coming and going from the convenience store and fast-food restaurants, carrying sacks. There was a guy standing out beside the store too.
    â€œYour dad and the doctors going to let you go to the hospital tomorrow after school?” Peavine asked.
    â€œI threw a big fit this morning about seeing Mom, so probably.” I studied the guy at the store. He had on jeans and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves cut off. He had to be about to melt in this heat. His hair was dark and short, but he was too far away for me to make out more details. He stood near the store’s door eating a sandwich, as if he wanted to seem like he was minding his own business and having lunch, but I knew he was watching the playground.
    Here was a suspicious stranger if I ever saw one.
    â€œLook,” I told Peavine, nodding toward the store. “That guy is creeping me out. Just what we needed in Bugtussle. Wood lice, snakes, a fire, missing kids, my mother, a serial killer—and now a creep. We should maybe interview him.”
    â€œGreat,” Peavine muttered, like he was the one catching a creep at work, but then I glanced toward where he was pointing. Angel was standing near the corner of the third-grade wing. She had on a yellow dress covered in long ribbons. She also had one of her thick books clutched against her chest, and a ring of kids around her. The teachers were halfway behind the other corner, so they couldn’t see what was happening.
    Peavine started forward, swinging his legs with a vengeance.
    â€œShe hates it when you help her,” I called after him.
    â€œYeah, well, too bad,” he shot back.
    I followed. The kids around Angel didn’t see us coming. When we got there, the boy in front, a grimy little bully named Max Selwin, pushed Angel backward. Her shoulders hit the red brick wall.
    â€œGimme the book, freak,” Max said.
    Angel stared at the ground and shook her head. “No.”
    â€œI said, give it here.”
    â€œNo!”
    Peavine didn’t stop at the line of kids. He shouldered right through them. They scattered sideways, letting me through too. Max raised his hand to grab Angel’s book, but Peavine hit him in the elbow with his crutch.
    â€œOw!” Max grabbed his arm and whirled to face us. He had to look up to go eye to eye with Peavine, and that only seemed to make the kid madder.
    â€œOh, good.” His dirt-smeared face twisted into a sneer. “It’s the freak’s crippled brother.”
    Max laughed. Nobody else did. I stopped beside Peavine, fists raised and ready. I’d never hit anybody in my life, but just that second, I thought I could.
    â€œI can handle this,” Angel said from behind Max. “It’s no big deal.”
    â€œYour sister’s a retard,” Max snarled at Peavine, only he couldn’t really pronounce the word right. It came out reee-tord .
    â€œYou’re trying to say ‘retard,’ ” Peavine corrected, like he was talking to somebody who couldn’t spell his own name. He gave Max the once-over, from his grubby tennis shoes to his lame band-logo T-shirt. “What you mean is ‘intellectually disabled’—and you’re stupid enough to think that’s an insult. If you’d called her a gutless wonder like Max Selwin, now that woulda been rude.”
    Ruu-uude . Peavine’s accent got stronger when he was mad. More kids crowded around, and a few laughed at what he said. I saw some people from our grade headed over too.
    Max let go of his hurt arm and lurched toward Peavine, who pivoted smoothly out of his way.
    â€œStop it,” Angel yelled. She started toward Peavine and Max, but I grabbed her. She dropped her book and tried to jerk out of my grip. “He’s going to get hurt.”
    I held on tight. “Peavine’s fine. He can take care of himself.”
    â€œNo, he can’t!”
    Max swung his fist at Peavine, who just