The Secret of Ferrell Savage by J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian

Author:J. Duddy Gill & Sonia Chaghatzbanian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

Chapter Thirteen

BEFORE DINNER MOM SENT MARY and me down to Spinelli’s for a bag of red lentils. It had snowed an inch or two the previous night, and our feet crunched as we walked. I felt a little awkward after the hug and couldn’t think of anything to say. Mary was quiet too.

The way I saw it was like this: Mary’s and my friendship was like my old Converse shoes. I had outgrown them in the fall, and as much as I knew I needed and wanted a new pair, I wasn’t quite ready to make the move. I had worn them—with the holes in the big toe knuckles and the red paint from Mary’s and my summer camp mural—for almost a year and a half. Then one day the shoes felt tight and squeezey, making all my toes aware of one another. For weeks I tried loosening the laces, wearing the shoes without socks, wearing them in the shower so they’d stretch out when they dried on my feet. But nothing worked. It was beyond my control. My feet had grown, and it was time for a new pair of shoes.

Mary’s and my friendship had become squeezey, and it was time for something new.

We sat at the deli counter, drinking root beer; Mr. Spinelli’s treat. “Anything for you, Miracle Survivor Boy,” he had said.

I sat high on my stool and stretched my arms over my head. “Ah,” I said, “I feel like the weight of last night’s dark hours has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Way to mix the metaphors,” she said.

“Metaphor, schmetaphor. Who cares?” I leaned forward and put my elbows on the counter.

“Now I see why the little conniver looked right at me when he talked about family trees,” Mary said. “He knows I’m related to Shannon Bell.”

“Yep. The kid knows his stuff all right.” I took a long swig of root beer.

“I simply cannot resign myself to the fact that I’m related to such a long line of defeatists.”

“Tell me about it. How do you think I felt when I found out I was related to a cannibal? But, you know, I think everything’s going to be okay. I’m glad I don’t have to race Littledood again.” I slid to the edge of my seat, closer to Mary. “And I think it’s cool . . . our little moment back at the house. You know . . . our sort-of hug thing.”

“Ferrell Savage, you most certainly are going to race against Bruce Littledood, and you’re going to tell him so first thing Monday morning, because I will not have people standing around, looking at me, just waiting for me to fail the same way my ancestors did. And as for a hug, well, you’re just plain crazy, thinking I’d embrace someone who devours my relatives, because that was no hug. I was looking at an ad on your computer screen, and you got in the way, so I simply moved you, is all.”

I was speechless. What had just happened?

“I’m impaled,” I finally said.

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