Trapped by Laurie Halse Anderson

upstairs to brush my teeth.
    That little blurb in the paper means the Morrison kid—William—isn’t in jail after all. That’s bad for two reasons. First, he’s getting away with what he did to Chico. Second, it’s only a matter of time before Sage finds out that I broke that “man-trap” of his, and then just a little while longer before he figures out how to fix it.
    Oh, and there’s a third reason—the worst thing of all. If Morrison isn’t in jail, that means he could still be trapping. More animals could get hurt.
    I need to do something.
    But what? I sure don’t like the way Sage is dealing with the problem.
    I look again at the blurb in the paper. It includes Morrison’s full name and address. That’s it! I’ll go to his house and talk to him. Explain why it’s illegal to set traps in the nature preserve and wrong to kill animals for their fur in the first place. I’ll persuade him to stop.
    I can’t see a thing wrong with my plan.

    â€œAre you out of your mind?” David stares at me, forgetting all about the piece of chocolate cake on the plate in front of him.
    It’s lunchtime at school, and I’ve just told my friends what I’m planning to do.
    I see Maggie and Sunita exchanging a look. “It’s too dangerous,” Sunita says. She must be thinking about the Morrison guy’s gun.
    â€œShe’s right,” agrees Zoe. “You can’t go to his house. That’s nuts!”
    â€œBut it’s the only thing to do,” I insist. “The court didn’t take care of the problem, so it’s up to me to try to change his mind.” I haven’t mentioned Sage’s trap. The fewer the people who know about that, the better.
    â€œI’m going with you,” David says quietly.
    â€œWhat?”
    He shrugs. “If you really feel like you have to go to this guy’s house, you shouldn’t go alone. So I’m coming.”
    â€œSo am I,” Maggie declares. “After all, I’m the one who went with you to meet him the first time. Might as well finish what I started.”
    That’s that. There’s no changing their minds. And secretly? I’m relieved. I was pretty nervous about going by myself.

    David figures out which bus we should take to get to Maple Avenue. That neighborhood isn’t far, even though the kids who live there go to another school. It’s just on the other side of the nature preserve from my house. A half-hour walk through the woods would get me to it. I trick-or-treated there on Halloween once.
    We walk down the street, checking house numbers. “Here’s Eleven,” Maggie says.
    The next house is Thirteen. “We’re going the right way,” I say. We keep walking.
    â€œIt’ll be on the other side of the street,” David tells us.
    â€œHow do you know?” Maggie asks.
    â€œBecause twenty-four is an even number. Eleven and Thirteen were on the right side, so that means the right side is odd numbers. Twenty-four will be on the left.”
    She shrugs. “If you say so.” Maggie’s not real good with numbers—unless she’s talking about basketball scores.
    â€œThis is it,” says David, stopping in front of a small white house with green shutters. It’s set back a little from the road.
    â€œYep,” I say, checking the name on the mailbox. “This is it, all right.”
    I look the house over. It’s not at all fancy, but it looks . . . well, cared for. The paint isn’t fresh, but there are nice curtains at the windows. The lawn is mowed. There’s a rusty swing set in the side yard, and a tire swing hangs from a huge old apple tree. There’s also a rope ladder hanging down from the tree, and my eyes follow it upward.
    â€œWow,” I breathe. “Nice tree house.”
    I have a tree house in my yard, too. My dad and Sage and I built it together. It’s an