The Unmaking of Rabbit by Constance C. Greene

longer stay later. Let me speak to Gran.”
    If only he could go for the week end, he could escape Gordon the Genius, and Freddy Gibson too, Paul thought, handing the receiver over to Gran. What’s more, he’d be where he wanted to be, with his mother. She might even ask him to stay when she found out how helpful he was, what good company. He’d make her laugh and he wouldn’t be in the way. He’d try very hard not to be in the way. Art might even take him to some art exhibits and explain the abstract paintings to him, since he was an artist. Paul had once seen an exhibit of abstract art, and some of the paintings haunted him. Maybe they meant something and maybe they didn’t. Paul thought that if you looked at them long enough, you could figure them out. He’d like to try.
    Gran said, “Yes, I’ll put him on the nine-oh-five. You’ll meet him, then? And he’ll be on the six-oh-five coming home? I’m fine. No, nothing much.” She hung up, and for a minute she stood still, staring at the wall. Gran so rarely did nothing—either she was smoking or fixing vegetables or playing solitaire or washing windows—that Paul said tentatively, “Gran?
    â€œGran?” he said again, and this time she came out of her reverie and smiled at him.
    â€œThat’ll be nice for you, won’t it?” she said. “You’re going to have a really busy week end, what with Gordon’s coming and you going to see your mother.”
    And Freddy Gibson. What about him? Paul wondered. Shivers of fear and anticipation went through him. To be a member of the group at last was something he had to think about, to savor, to imagine. To go on a sleep-out and cook stuff and talk and laugh and close his eyes to shut out the stars. These were not small things. On the other hand, what did he have to do to obtain them? Gran had always said, “Never take anything that doesn’t belong to you.” Paul didn’t know if he had the strength to resist the promise of friendship, even friendship so badly bought. What part was he supposed to play in Freddy’s plan?
    He wished he had more time to think about it.

11
    He had even less time than he’d thought. Next morning Freddy was waiting for him in the playground. He was alone. It was the first time Paul had ever seen him not surrounded by his friends, and he looked different, smaller and not quite so ominous.
    Freddy smiled, revealing his chipmunk teeth. “Hey, Rabbit, how’s it going? You decide? About what we were talking about yesterday, you decide?” The smile was turned off and the teeth had disappeared.
    â€œI don’t know,” Paul said. “I-I-I-I’ve got to go visit my mother Sunday. If you want me on Sunday, I can’t go. My mother and me are going to do a whole bunch of things Sunday. We might go to a museum or to the zoo and …”
    â€œSaturday, Rabbit, it’s Saturday we got plans.” Freddy spoke slowly and distinctly, his eyes never leaving Paul’s face. “We really want you to come along. All the guys told me they want you.” He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and Paul tried, without success, not to flinch. That hand felt as if it weighed a ton. “Don’t forget the sleep-out either. That’s the best. A blast. We do everything together, the gang does.” He waited.
    â€œAs long as it’s Saturday, I-I-I guess it’s O.K.,” Paul stammered. Up until that moment, he hadn’t known exactly what he was going to say. Freddy’s face became friendly again.
    â€œTerrific!” he said. “Be at the corner of Maple and Willow at eight o’clock Saturday morning,” he said, lowering his voice, even though they were alone. The bell had rung. “Don’t tell anybody where you’ve gone, your grandmother, nobody. Mum’s the word, pal, and don’t forget it. That’s one of the rules, the most