Sammy Keyes and the Dead Giveaway by Wendelin Van Draanen

Author:Wendelin Van Draanen [Draanen, Wendelin Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-54499-5
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2005-10-26T04:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

The whole way over to Mrs. Willawago's, Marissa rattled on about her vision of the Plan: After school we'd go over to her house 'cause obviously the Hummer couldn't show up at the Senior Highrise. We'd get ready there, and when the doorbell rang, we'd both answer the door so as not to get embarrassed by her parents—if they were actually home—or her annoying little brother, Mikey. She went on and on with details, and I just sort of agreed to everything because basically, I didn't care. I was just happy to be able to go to the dance as me, not some foofoo version of me.

When we reached Hopper Street, Marissa got off her bike and I picked up my board. She was now on the subject of how generous Danny's mom was to spring for the rental and how it wasn't just that we were going to the dance in a Hummer, it was that we were seventh graders going with eighth graders to the dance in a Hummer.

“Hold on, hold on!” I said. “And what do you call Billy Pratt?” Because not only is Billy a seventh grader, he's probably the most immature seventh grader at William Rose Junior High.

“I call him crazy!” She laughed. “But he would have been an eighth grader if he hadn't been held back.”

“Who told you that?”

“Danny did. They went to the same preschool.”

“Danny and Billy did?”

“Uh-huh. You've got to ask them about the Nap Nazi sometime.”

“The Nap Nazi?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “It's a crack-up.”

Now, part of me was feeling really left out. I mean, when had she had these humorous encounters with Danny and Billy? Where was I when they were discussing Nap Nazis? But we were almost at Mrs. Willawago's, and the mailman was coming toward us, whistling away.

“Good afternoon!” he sings out as we converge in front of the Train House. He hands me Mrs. Willawago's mail and says, “Have a good one!” and continues on his way.

“Gee, Sammy,” Marissa says, “if the mailman knows you, you're here way too much.”

“I know,” I said. “It's been almost a month of this, and I don't really see an end in sight.”

“So? Are you just going to keep doing it forever?”

“I don't know. It's not like I mind …”

She whispered, “All that God-talk would drive me crazy.”

“Aw, you learn to ignore it.”

But then I noticed a strange letter in Mrs. Willawago's mail. The printing was in pencil and in all caps, which at first made me think it was from a grandkid or something. But then I started wondering because (a) it was addressed to Annie, not Grandma or even Mrs., (b) there was no return address, and (c) Willawago was spelled “Williwago.”

And then I noticed something else, which made my heart start beating faster. “Mrs. Willawago!” I shouted, running up the cowcatcher. I opened the door. “Mrs. Willawago?”

“Merciful heavens, what is it?” she said, hobbling toward me.

“Look at this letter!”

She smiled at Marissa and said, “Hello, there. Nice to see you again,” then took the letter from me.

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