Trapped by Laurie Halse Anderson Page B

“Sure, I guess.” He gazes down at the fawn again. “Do you know somebody who can help?”
    â€œI think I might,” I tell him.
    He leads me inside to the kitchen, which is clean and bright. First things first: we’ll need a ride to the clinic. I dial my home number. It’s not easy, because my hands are shaking a little. The phone rings and rings, and finally someone picks up.
    â€œHello?” It’s Sage.
    â€œIt’s me, Brenna,” I say.
    He doesn’t respond. I have a sinking feeling that he’s discovered the missing spring. “Sage, I need help. An injured fawn. Can you get Dad?”
    â€œI’ll come,” he says right away. “Dad’s too busy.”
    â€œBut—” I’m not sure I want to deal with Sage right now.
    â€œTell me where you are,” he says, ignoring my protest.
    I give up and tell him the address.
    â€œI’m on my way,” he says. He hangs up before I can say another word.

Chapter Nine
    A s soon as I hang up, I call the clinic to tell Dr. Mac that we’re coming in. Then I turn to the Morrison kid. “My brother’s coming,” I say. “He’ll help us bring the fawn to this animal clinic where I volunteer. The vet there is really nice. She’ll do her best to save the fawn. If she can save it, then my parents can take care of it until it’s ready to go back into the wild. They’re wildlife rehabilitators.
    â€œReally?” He looks relieved.
    Ha. Little does he know. If Sage figures out that this guy is the trapper who hurt Chico, I don’t even want to think about what might happen.
    â€œDo you have an old towel or a blanket we can put over the fawn?” I ask. “It’s important to keep her warm since she might be going into shock, and to cover her eyes to help keep her calm.”
    He nods and disappears down the hall.
    I take a second to look around the kitchen. There are photos on the fridge.
    One is of William, standing next to a little girl who must be his sister (she looks exactly like a female version of him). Behind them is a woman who must be his mom. There’s a beautiful lake in the background, and mountains. Next to the picture there’s a note: “Billy, please make sure Katie gets a bath tonight. I’ll be working late.”
    Billy. Somehow that name makes me hate him a little less. The name, plus the fact that he helps out with his little sister.
    There’s another picture, of a man who looks a lot like Billy. He’s holding up a huge fish and grinning at the camera. He must be Billy’s dad. I take a step closer to get a better look, and just then Billy comes back into the room. He’s carrying an old army blanket and a threadbare orange towel. “Is this your dad?” I ask.
    He nods. “Before he got sick,” Billy says. “He died last year.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I respond automatically, not knowing what else to say.
    He shrugs. “We’d better get out there,” he says.
    David and Maggie are kneeling by the fawn when we go back out. “She’s breathing faster,” David says. “Kind of panting.” He looks up at me. “Do you think she’ll be OK?”
    â€œMaybe, if we can get her to Dr. Mac in time.”
    Billy arranges the blanket around the fawn, working very gently and carefully. He lays the towel over the fawn’s eyes.
    Then we all just sit at a distance and watch, being as quiet as we can.
    When Sage arrives, he takes one look at the fawn and shakes his head. “Brenna, I don’t know . . .”
    â€œWe have to try,” I plead with him. “We can’t just let her die!”
    Finally Sage gives in. “OK.” He turns to Billy. “I’m Sage,” he says.
    â€œBilly.” They shake hands, something Sage would never have done if he knew who Billy was.
    â€œCan you help me carry him over to the truck?” Sage asks