Drizzle Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Two hundred and thirty-one?”
    “It’s half the field,” I tell him. “Don’t worry, it’ll go fast,” I reassure him. “Let me see you do it one more time.”
    After I’m sure he isn’t going to decimate a plant—or else aggravate one so much that it smacks him—I tell him to go to the opposite corner of the field so that we can “meet in the middle.” But I’m lying. The real reason is so I can sneak over and talk to Harry.
    When I get to his spot, I find Harry with his green leaves stretched out flat to his side, shining under the sun. He’s getting a suntan. No joke. All plants want sunlight, but rhubarb is especially crazy about it. He’s also happy this is not a harvesting year for him; last year, I pruned him so much, he didn’t talk to me for a week.
    I check to make sure Basford isn’t looking, and then I sit down near Harry and pull out a water bottle from my backpack.
    “Here,” I say, pouring some of the water around his roots. “Drink up.”
    It’s water from the lake. Obviously, all the plants, including Harry, get enough water from the weekly rainfall, but I know a little bit more will make him extra strong and healthy.
    “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” I smile.
    Harry’s leaves fold themselves together. Thank you .
    “That’s Basford,” I tell Harry. “He’s Beatrice’s godson.”
    His middle leaf shakes.This means either yes or I know .
    “He seems nice,” I say. “A little quiet. For a boy.”
    Harry bends his bottom stalk, smiling again. Then he curls up the end of his leaves.
    “He’s not my friend yet ,” I say. “I just met him yesterday. He might change his mind when we go to school and he sees how unpopular I am.” I drink some of the lake water myself.
    Harry flaps his leaves up and down. It’ll be okay.
    I tell Harry all about yesterday, beginning with the arrival of Basford to the wasp. Harry listens patiently to my entire story. Once or twice he flaps a leaf to tell me to slow down, or folds up a leaf to tell me to repeat what I just said.
    “Okay. So one other question. I paid attention to everything yesterday. What were you talking about? Basford? The mist? The wasp?”
    This prompts Harry. No .
    “So what was it?”
    Then Harry does something new. He bunches up all of his stalks in one vertical lift so that his leaves look like some kind of strange green bouquet on red stems.
    “I don’t know what that means.”
    Harry relaxes his leaves for a second, and then bunches them up again. I shake my head.
    “Can you give me another clue?”
    Harry stretches his leaves flat and looks like he might respond when I hear a voice behind me.
    “Uh, Polly?”
    I twist around and see Basford. He’s holding out a full bag of rhubarb stalks and is looking at me as if I escaped from a mental hospital. “Were you talking to someone?”
    “Me?” I say, my face reddening. “No.”
    I glance over at Harry.
    “I mean I was, to myself, I talk to myself sometimes. But no. No one here.” I feel a leaf graze my leg. I ignore it. “I just like to come to the fields and say some words. Out-loud words.”
    Harry’s two biggest leaves scrape my leg. I scooch away from him, but end up touching another plant on the other side.
    “Okaaay,” Basford says.
    “We should get that to Beatrice. She’ll be excited you did so much,” I say, pointing to his bags. I only have about half as much.
    “Let’s go!” I say, way too cheerfully.
    Harry brushes the underside of a leaf on my ankle. It’s pretty obvious. Basford stares at him.
    “It’s nothing,” I say, a fake smile frozen on my lips. “The wind.”
    “Right.” His eyes dart back and forth between Harry and me, confused. There is no wind. I bite my bottom lip and Basford gives up trying to figure it out. As he lifts his bag over his shoulder, I glance back and stick out my tongue at Harry. He has to understand that I can’t just go around telling people my best friend is a chocolate rhubarb