Buried Read Online Free PDF

around and take a sharp right down a narrow path. The Library plaque flashes by and I keep going until I reach the Dumpster.
    I reach out and lift up the lid, holding my breath as I stand on my toes to peer inside. Yes! Exhaling, I rescue my backpack.
    Immediately, I check inside and am relieved that nothing is missing. Wallet, keys, gold necklace, and the letter I found in Mom’s desk. I sling my backpack over my shoulder then turn around and head for Ms. Chu’s classroom. She’s the only teacher who will believe me when I tell her a masked guy kidnapped someone—probably a student from our school—and locked him in a cage.
    But as I pass the quad, which offers a view back up the hill, I see several distant figures hurrying toward the old gym. At least one person is an adult, probably a teacher or the principal. Help is on the way for the trapped guy, which is a huge relief. He’ll be rescued—and I won’t have to deal with telling Ms. Chu a bizarre story.
    After a quick stop at my locker, I walk past buses spewing diesel fumes and cars jam-packed on the street to meet Rune at our usual place by the school flagpole.
    Rune takes one look at me and points. “Why is there a banana peel on your backpack? Are bananas the latest in goth fashion?”
    â€œNot funny.” Angry all over again, I yank off my backpack to grab the strip of banana peel. Then I stomp over to a nearby trash can and toss the offending bits of brown and yellow away.
    â€œWere you attacked by a banana-flinging monkey?” When I glare at her, she grins. “Did you know that in Alabama there’s a grave where people leave bananas instead of flowers? It’s for a space monkey that returned alive. But now she’s dead and all those bananas just rot on the grave.”
    â€œRune, I’ve had a crappy day and if you want to survive long enough to hear about it, you will shut up right now. Let’s just go somewhere to talk.”
    â€œOkay—what’s going on?” She frowns at my dusty, ripped jeans. “Did you get run over by a truck or something?”
    â€œOr something,” I say wearily.
    Instead of walking home (a mile to her house together, then a mile to mine alone), Rune leads me to our favorite hangout, T he Hole Truth donut shop.
    â€œSOS! Donut crisis,” Rune calls out as we enter the shop. The Hole Truth doubles as a thrift store, its shelves full of glass figurines, bobble heads, and holiday decorations. The linoleum floor is faded and the ceiling leaks during rain. But it’s a haven for us, and the owner, a half-Mexican/half-African American elderly man named Antonio, always knows exactly what his customers need, prescribing the right donut like a doctor prescribes pain-killers.
    Antonio takes one look at me and shakes his balding dark head, then leads us to our usual booth in the back underneath a shelf of Halloween decorations. “Rough day?” he asks me sympathetically.
    â€œApocalyptic.” I nod, sitting across from Rune on a cracked leather seat.
    â€œShe’ll need a double dose,” Rune says grimly. She reaches for the napkin container and peels off a napkin for me.
    I murmur “thanks” and wipe banana mush from my hands.
    â€œI have the perfect remedy,” Antonio says in a rolling Spanish accent. “You sit here and I’ll bring it out pronto.”
    When he’s gone, Rune takes off her studded leather jacket and flips her braids back. “Tell me everything.”
    I bite my lip, not sure where to start and wishing I could just forget about it.
    â€œCome on, Thorn, let go of negativity. Don’t hold it inside and pollute your psyche.” Rune is hardcore into alternative thinking and holds unique views on life, connected to nature. I’ve learned a lot from her. But I’m reluctant to admit a masked guy made a fool of me.
    I get a temporary reprieve when Antonio sweeps toward us balancing a