True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan Page A

go.”
    But RB knew her: those copper curls weren’t bouncing because she had a project. They were bound for a Dellyventure.
    â€œHey,” he called, but she was gone.
    â€œWhat’s Delly doing?” Cletis asked.
    â€œDon’t know,” RB replied. He was going to find out, though.

Chapter 23
    D elly sprinted out the back door of the school and across the playground. “No talking, no touching, no fun,” she told herself. “Just like Alaska.”
    She caught sight of Ferris Boyd at the bridge. “There you are,” she whispered, and crept along the concrete.
    Ferris Boyd clumped out the River Road, while Delly dashed from tree to tree. At the old Hennepin place, Ferris Boyd trudged down an empty driveway and disappeared in the house.
    â€œChizzle,” Delly griped, because all that tailgating had come to nothing.
    The door swung open again. Ferris Boyd was on the stoop, with a bowl in one hand and a basketball in the other.
    â€œShikes,” Delly squeaked, and dove in the ditch. She peeked over the edge.
    Ferris Boyd turned to the bushes beside the yard. Her mouth didn’t make a sound.
    Still, a black cat sprang out of the brush, like she’d called it. It ran across the grass to her.
    She sat on the stoop while the cat ate. After, it circled her as she scratched it.
    And the birds were everywhere. Just like at school, they swooped around her, but they didn’t come too close. “Because of that bawlgram cat,” Delly muttered.
    The cat stretched out on the stoop. Ferris Boyd walked to the drive with the ball. She bounced it, thump, thump, thump .
    â€œI hate that game,” Delly murmured.
    Ferris Boyd turned to the basket. She sent the ball to the hoop, like it was easy.
    â€œWhoa,” Delly rasped. Because even though she was too tiny for basketball, it was something to see a kid play like that.
    The ditch was better than Alaska, because it wasn’t school. But it was hard squatting, squished against dirt. Pretty soon every bit of Delly was screaming for a stretch.
    So she did. A couple hunks of dirt dropped, noises nobody’d notice.
    Unless nobody was a bawlgram cat. It raised its head and stared straight at her.
    â€œWhat are you looking at?” Delly mumbled.
    â€œRowwwwr,” the cat replied, telling her and Ferris Boyd, too.
    The girl quit playing. She followed the cat’s gaze to the ditch.
    Delly ducked.
    Then there was silence. The silence of somebody sneaking up on me in a ditch, Delly thought.
    â€œShikes, shikes, shikes,” she hissed as she crawled in the dirt toward River Bluffs.
    Before she got too far, though, she heard that thump, thump, thump again. She stopped, and snuck a look.
    Ferris Boyd was back playing ball. The cat was sunning itself.
    Then Delly didn’t stir.
    It was a long time till Ferris Boyd set the ball on the stoop.
    â€œFinally,” Delly breathed.
    The girl picked up her backpack and headed to the woods. The cat trotted behind her.
    Suddenly it was quiet. The birds and other creatures had disappeared, like she’d taken them with her.
    Delly still had awhile till Clarice got home. “I can go face Galveston,” she murmured, “or follow Ferris Boyd.” It didn’t take two seconds to decide.
    She crept out of the ditch and across the grass. She went into the woods.
    It was dark in there. She could hear animals up ahead and over her. But there was no Ferris Boyd. No bawlgram cat, either. “What the glub?” she whispered.
    There was a path between trees. Delly snuck along it. Alone in the shadows, she got nervous. “Maybe those two are watching me,” she muttered. “Maybe they’re witches, living in the woods. Maybe they’ll fly at me, and turn me into a —”
    â€œMowrrrr,” it howled from above.
    Delly shot, like a sunlight-seeking missile, out of the woods. She dove in the ditch. Her head popped up, fists in front of her.