I Owe You One by Natalie Hyde Page A

that?”
    Mr. Elliot was speechless.
    â€œDaryl,” Mrs. Elliot said, taking his arm and walking him back to the house, “have you ever thought about going into the demolition business? I know Mr. Palmer over Dunkirk way wants to have his old silo taken down.”
    I couldn’t hear Daryl’s answer, and I suddenly realized that we were alone with Mr. Elliot. Zach and I froze. I hoped he wouldn’t remember we were there. He wasn’t looking at us though. He was staring at Daryl’s handiwork.
    As if on cue, we both took a silent step backward, praying we could escape.
    He turned to us as if to say something, but no words came out. He looked back at the rubble. We moved back another step.
    It was like a bad game of Red Light, Green Light.
    â€œSTOP!”
    Game over.
    â€œI…You…This…He…” Mr. Elliot sputtered like a lawnmower out of gas. He took a deep breath. “Two piles,” he barked. “I want this stuff in two piles by tomorrow.”

Chapter 13
    Zach and I felt pretty good as we walked to Lee’s the next day. We had finished piling all of Mr. Elliot’s rocks and mortar, and I had the arrowhead in my pocket. Tomorrow we planned to take the arrowhead to the Chiefs’ coach and make arrangements to get our snow. Everything was falling into place.
    We thought we’d stop in at Frank’s shop to tell him the good news. He was in his usual spot at his computer.
    â€œSo we figure if you leave tomorrow, we could have the transmitter here by, say, next Thursday,” I told Frank. “Do you think you could start installing it next Friday?” I was eager to get this whole thing over with.
    Frank laced his hands on his chest as he rocked back in his chair.
    â€œProblem,” he said.
    Surely he wasn’t going to tell us he couldn’t do it because there was a hair-dryer repair workshop next week or something.
    â€œYours or ours?” Zach asked. He was always pretty good about getting to the bottom of things.
    â€œYours.”
    So, no workshop.
    â€œWhat problem?” I asked.
    â€œGetting the snow down there and the transmitter up here.”
    He was right. I’d been concentrating so hard on getting the transmitter and the snow and the arrowhead that I’d completely forgotten to figure out a way to make the trade. I had to think fast.
    â€œZach and I will check out the bus and train schedules and get some camping coolers for the snow,” I said.
    Frank shook his head but didn’t say anything.
    â€œWhat?” Sometimes trying to talk to Frank made my teeth ache.
    Frank leaned forward on his desk. “Snow’ll never make it all that way in a cooler.”
    I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he was right. When we went camping, we had to load up on ice every day or so in the hot weather. And a block of ice lasts way longer than a pile of snow.
    â€œAnd”—Frank wasn’t done yet—“who’s gonna let two eleven-year-olds go down there alone?”
    I closed my mouth. I hate it when people who think they’re smarter than me actually turn out to be smarter than me. I tried to think of a quick solution, but nothing came to mind. How were we going to get the snow to Florida and bring the transmitter back?
    Something inside of me snapped. This whole thing was spiraling out of control. There probably was no such thing as a life debt. Zach was just pulling my leg. And even if there was such a thing, there was no proof that Mrs. Minton had ever heard of it. Or expected me to repay one. I very seriously doubted that she was sitting (or lying, I guess) in her living room thinking I owed her something.
    Everyone else was having fun on their summer vacations, and here I was chasing down snow, arrowheads and transmitters. And for what? No one was going to come after me if I didn’t do this. Heck, no one even expected an eleven-year-old to be responsible for fixing this. Adults