Читать книгу Running Scared - Brenda Chapman - Страница 6

I worked for over an hour in the kitchen on my history assignment before thinking that I’d covered the fur trade to the satisfaction of Miss Dragot. I had never seen the sense of killing animals just to have a fur coat, so I guess this thirst for beaver pelts wasn’t a thing I could relate to. Still, I was satisfied with my research. I pushed aside my essay, figuring I had plenty of time before bed to finish my English homework. I searched through my binder and knapsack for nearly five minutes before I realized that my question sheet on Catcher in the Rye wasn’t going to appear. I groaned. Why couldn’t I keep my homework together? Why was I such a loser when it came to anything that required organizational skills?

I was lying with my head on my arms when there was a knock on the back door. Slowly, I lifted my head, trying to see who the figure was through the lace curtain on the window of the door. Should I just pretend nobody was home? I quietly moved to the door and lifted a corner of the curtain. Pete Flaghert stood clearly revealed in the pool of light given off from the bright bulb above the door. He was looking into our backyard and whistling through his pursed lips. I let the curtain drop back into place and reached for the door knob. Pete was probably harmless enough. I swung the door open and Pete grinned at me, holding up a piece of paper.