Down the Rabbit Hole Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ingrid said.
    â€œNo money on me.”
    â€œHere,” said Ingrid, forking a slightly too-blackened patty into a bun and handing it to her. “Compliments of the Boosters.”
    â€œBoosters rule,” said Stacy, squirting on some ketchup and taking a big bite. “Think we should tell anybody? Ty maybe?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œThe flea-flicker.”
    Flea-flicker. What could it be? “Watch the burgers,” Ingrid said.
    She hurried across the parking lot, around the endzone, and up the sideline. The Red Raiders were in their formations now, the offense practicing plays against the defense, like they always did at the end of warm-up. Ty, a defensive back, was only a few yards from her. He looked huge in his pads and uniform, almost like another person; except for his face, small behind the bars of the mask.
    â€œTy,” she called, in kind of a stage whisper.
    No reaction.
    â€œTy.” A little louder.
    But nothing.
    Then came some shouted gibberish, “Thirty-six, red left, hut, hut,” and everybody crashed together, grunting and bellowing. Number 43 knocked Ty to the ground. Ty sprang back up with a sort of roar, like he was all charged up from getting pummeled. Ingrid had seen a show on the Discovery Channel about territorial skirmishes between troops of chimpanzees. This was just like that.
    â€œTy,” she called, full volume now.
    Ty and number 43 were face-to-face, banging their heads together, completely oblivious to her. Ingrid stepped across the sideline. Both players whirled around immediately.
    â€œWhat the hell?” said Ty.
    â€œIt’s important,” Ingrid said.
    â€œGet off the field,” Ty said. His eyes were maniacal.
    â€œBut—”
    He yelled something obscene at her.
    â€œYou’re a stupid jerk,” Ingrid said.
    â€œPower goat left, on two, hut, hut, HUT.”
    Crash. Ty got knocked down again. Ingrid left him there, went back to the grill, took over from Stacy.
    â€œHow did that go?” Stacy said.
    â€œHard to say,” Ingrid said. “They seem to be under a spell right now.”
    Stacy laughed. “Wanna come over for the night?” she said.
    That sounded good. Stacy’s father was a genius when it came to electricity, and the Rubinos had a kick-ass entertainment center in their basement—forty-two-inch plasma screen, booming surround sound, two big corduroy couches with fleece blankets, popcorn machine, tons of videos including Ferris Bueller’s Day Off , all of the Fawlty Towers series, Rushmore, and Billy Madison . Ingrid had spent many weekend nights at Stacy’s. The two of them went all the way back to before preschool, had started playing together when they could barelywalk. Ingrid could tell Stacy anything; and tonight she had something to tell. She was about to say yes when Stacy’s thick eyebrows shot straight up, the way they did when she had an idea or got excited by something.
    â€œHey,” Stacy said. “Did you hear about Cracked-Up Katie?”
    Ingrid came very close to saying, “Oh my God, wait till you hear this.” It was the perfect moment to tell Stacy her secret. But for some reason, Ingrid did not. Instead she looked away and said, “Somebody said something about it.” Kind of mumbled it, actually, and felt her face turning red.
    â€œGet this,” said Stacy. “Her name wasn’t really Cracked-Up Katie.”
    â€œOf course not,” said Ingrid, hearing her tone sharpen suddenly, as though she had some reason to be mad at Stacy.
    â€œWhat’s with you?” said Stacy.
    â€œNothing.” Ingrid remembered: You can call me Kate. At that moment, she realized she’d liked Cracked-Up Katie.
    â€œI meant she had a last name,” Stacy was saying. “I know Cracked-Up’s not a real name.”
    â€œSorry,” Ingrid said.
    â€œIt was Katherine something,” said Stacy. She saw Joey Strade