On the Road to Mr. Mineo's by Barbara O'Connor Page B

and his mouth shut tight. He could not lie. He had tried many times but just never could manage to do it.
    He would think a lie.
    He would open his mouth to say a lie.
    But he never could actually do it.
    He always told the truth, even when he didn’t want to.
    He sat silently now, waiting for Stella to say something. She jammed her fists into her waist, stomped her foot, and hollered at Levi, “Go away!”
    â€œOkay, Mrs. Wormy,” Levi said. “But if I catch that pigeon, he’s mine .”
    Levi disappeared down the ladder. When Gerald heard his sneakers crunching on the gravel driveway and then slapping on the sidewalk as he ran up Waxhaw Lane, he stood up and brushed blue chalk from the seat of his shorts.
    â€œWhy didn’t you just tell him the truth?” he said.
    Stella rolled her eyes. “’Cause I know Levi,” she said. “He’ll be sneaking around here with his nasty ole friends.” She glanced back at the shed. “I have an idea.”
    Gerald felt a groan rise up from inside his worried stomach.
    â€œWe’ll build a cage for Harvey on top of the shed,” Stella said. “Then Levi and them can see plain as day that Harvey belongs to me. And ,” she added, “they can’t come up here and take him.”
    A whole slew of thoughts swirled around in Gerald’s head.
    How were they going to build a cage?
    What would they feed the pigeon?
    If they let him out of the cage, would he fly away?
    If he flew away, would he come back?
    What if Levi caught him?
    On and on and on went Gerald’s thoughts.
    Meanwhile, Stella had gone back to the shed to get Harvey. But when she opened the door, the one-legged pigeon hopped out and flew away.

 
    CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
    The Boy Who Cried Wolf
    Mutt packed up his tackle box and fishing gear. Maybe his special fishing spot wasn’t so special anymore. He’d been here all afternoon and hadn’t even gotten a nibble.
    He was just turning to head up the path to the road when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
    Something flying. Circling over the sandy patch along the edge of the lake.
    Mutt stood still, barely taking a breath.
    And then …
    â€¦ the one-legged pigeon landed on his head.
    Mutt’s heart raced. He lifted his arms very, very slowly.
    A little higher and a little higher and a little higher.
    Slowly, slowly, slowly.
    Holding his breath, he placed both hands on the pigeon. Then he lifted the bird off his head and held him in front of his face. The pigeon stared at him with his round orange eyes. The iridescent green feathers on his neck sparkled in the late-afternoon sun.
    â€œHey, feller,” Mutt whispered.
    The pigeon made a cooing sound.
    Suddenly, Mutt remembered something.
    â€œShoot!” He stomped his foot, making the pigeon squirm a little in his hands.
    He had forgotten to bring a box. He had planned on putting the pigeon in a box so he could take him home and show all the other Raynards that he had not been lying.
    A one-legged pigeon had landed on his head.
    He put the pigeon under his T-shirt. It was warm and soft against his stomach.
    Then he hurried up the middle of the road toward home.

 
    CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
    Pigeon Pie
    Mr. Mineo watched the pigeons swoop out of the weathered blue shed, circle a few times, and then soar out over the lake.
    Edna
    Frankie
    Martha
    Samson
    Leslie
    Taylor
    Amy
    Joe
    Christopher
    and Martin
    But not Sherman.
    Instead of getting to work cleaning the shed, Mr. Mineo sat on the wooden bench at the edge of the water and talked to Ernie. “Here’s what must have happened,” he said, scratching the fat dog’s head. Ernie let out a deep doggie sigh and rested his chin on Mr. Mineo’s shoe.
    â€œSherman must have taken off away from the others in that rapscallion way of his.” He swatted at the gnats circling around Ernie’s head. “You know, that rebel thing he does just to