Franny Parker by Hannah Roberts McKinnon Page A

twenty-dollar bill in the can when Grandma Rae wasn’t looking last Friday.
    â€œHey,” Pearl said, handing me a Creamsicle. “Is that Lucas?” She pointed across the store to one of the cash registers. It was.
    Suddenly I felt foolish with a mouse in my pocket and a melting ice cream in hand. “Let’s go,” I said.
    â€œBut I didn’t pick out my ice cream yet.” She stood in the middle of the aisle, hands on her hips. Honestly, sometimes Pearl was just like a mule.
    â€œTake mine,” I said, glancing quickly at the checkout aisle. I shoved the Creamsicle in her hand. “I’ll meet you outside.”
    â€œOh-oh,” Pearl said, inspecting the redness creeping across my cheeks. “You like him.”
    â€œI do not!” I hissed. Pearl did not know what she was talking about.
    I saw Mr. Harland approach Lucas’s register and point to his watch. “Lunch break!” he said.
    â€œHurry,” I told Pearl. I watched as Lucas pulled his Harland’s Market apron over his head and tossed it over his shoulder. He closed his checkout lane and headed toward our aisle.
    â€œPearl!” I pleaded.
    She looked me up and down for what felt like a long time. “All right. Let’s go.” She grabbed the ice cream from my hand and tossed it back in the freezer. Just as Pearl sometimes surprised me by reading my secrets, she also surprised me with these kindnesses. Small but crucial kindnesses. We hurried up the aisle, ducking our heads, but were stopped by a hideous scream.
    â€œRat!” a woman howled. “There’s a rat in the dairy section!”
    Instinctively, I felt my shirt pocket. Empty. We both spun around at once, to a scene that unfolded in slow motion. A large gray-haired woman was waving her purse with one hand and covering her eyes with the other as Jeremy Jenkins, one of the stock boys, ran around her in circles swiping at the floor.
    â€œStop!” I yelled. “He’s not a rat!”
    But they didn’t seem to hear. Instead, the woman went on yelling and waving, until she got herself so worked up she collapsed on a crate of butter. Jeremy kept chasing the gray blur on the floor as it zigged and zagged up the dairy aisle, shoppers stumbling out of their path and milk jugs toppling to the floor. Finally Jeremy fell to his knees and smacked his hand over the floor. My stomach lurched.
    â€œDon’t hurt him!” I hollered, racing up behind him. Slowly he lifted one finger of his cupped hand. A whiskered nose poked out.
    â€œWait till Mr. Harland sees this!” Jeremy puffed.
    â€œPlease don’t,” I begged, lifting his fingers one by one to extract my mouse. “His name’s Runty.”
    Jeremy shook his dark hair, hands on his knees. “We set traps in the back for these things.”
    I scooped Runty up and examined him quickly. He was fine. I looked back at the gray-haired woman, now wiping butter off her giant rear end. “So sorry, ma’am. I really am.” She made no reply.
    But someone else did.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?”
    I whirled around to face Lucas.
    â€œWe’re just leaving,” Pearl said, grabbing my elbow.
    â€œWith their rat!” Jeremy blurted out.
    â€œRat?” Lucas raised his eyebrows.
    â€œMouse!” Pearl said. “Orphan mouse!”
    Lucas looked around at the tipped boxes, the woman still trying to clean the butter from her skirt. He tried to hide his smile. “Well, you’d better scram fast,” he said. “Before Harland comes.”
    â€œWe have to tell him,” Jeremy said, motioning to the mess. “I’m not cleaning all this up!”
    Lucas turned to him. “Shall we also tell him about the
free
candy bars you eat in the back?” he asked, handing him a broom.
    Jeremy looked away.
    â€œGo on, Franny. Take your orphan home.”
    I flashed Lucas my biggest smile, and we took off. We were