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wet, trying to figure out how soon we can get out of there.



Chapter 7
    After school on Monday, Zack and I blow up about a hundred balloons for Fred’s party. William is drawing a fake tattoo on his arm, while Linny and her friend Becca drag tables and chairs around in the yard, whispering to each other . . . as if we care about their private stuff.
    The tattoo finished, completely smudged, William paints something across his wrist—who knows what . . . a cougar, maybe. But I can’t concentrate on that, I have hardly any breath left from that balloon blowing, or from rushing to rescue K.G., screaming from her crib upstairs.
    I run up to grab her. “Hey, Killer Godzilla,” I say, carrying her down to see what’s going on. She needs a diaper change desperately, but I’m ignoring that.
    If we can figure things out, if we end up being rich, I’ll hire someone. All he’ll have to do is change diapers, dozens of them every few minutes.
    And the party begins. Half the neighborhood is here to sing around Mom’s lopsided cake:
“Happy birthday, dearFred, happy birthday to you.”
Sarah Yulefski is the loudest, her chocolate-milk mustache quivering.
    Fred wears a pirate party hat that looks like a third ear, exactly like the ears of Alfred, the cemetery boss. Already Fred is chomping down on one of his presents, a greasy bone from William.
    Yulefski keeps tilting her head, glancing toward the back of the yard. Sheesh. She wants to tell me something, probably about a diamond ring.
    Do I want to hear?
    Bad enough Zack and I have to waste the afternoon at Fred’s party, when we should be hot on the trail of the treasure.
    Sarah pokes my arm. “News,” she whispers urgently.
    I take a pretzel off the table and nibble at one end as I stare up at the leaves blowing around. If only they’d sail out front and across the street.
    Yulefski gives me a pinch. “More about the treasure,” she whispers.
    â€œWe’d better listen,” Zack says, reminding me that she probably read all of
The Fascinating History of Newfield
last night.
    We follow her to the back of the yard. But what’s this? Bradley is sneaking along in back of us, listening.
    We stop dead. Yulefski puts her hands on her hips. “Get lost, Bradley,” she says, not a fearful bone in her body today.
    We watch Bradley pull the leaves off the lowest treebranch and tear them into pieces. “I have partners, you know,” he says. “Watch out!”
    He turns back to the party table as a shiver runs through my bones. Could they be his two brothers? They’re both partners in bullying?
    â€œI’ve solved one problem,” Sarah says, herding us into a corner of the fence.
    Sure.
    â€œI know how to get under the school.”
    A relief. We don’t have to think about pneumatic drills and hard hats.
    â€œThere’s a coal chute, built by Lester himself.”
    What is she talking about, anyway?
    But just then, the wind blasts through the yard and balloons float above our heads.
    Fred takes a bite of one. It explodes, and he takes off under the fence, going a hundred miles an hour.
    â€œGet him,” Steadman yells, “he’s spoiling his own birthday party!”
    â€œDon’t move. Stay right there,” I tell Steadman. “We’re on his case.”
    Zack gives out a piercing whistle that can be heard all the way to the town round and Lester Tinwitty’s soup pot. But Fred doesn’t stop.
    Zack and I chase after him, yelling, “Sit! Stay!”
    And behind us, with a mound of cookie dough icecream in his mouth, William shouts a garbled “Give me your paw,” Fred’s only trick.
    As if that would stop him.
    I throw myself over the fence into the churchyard, leaving one sneaker behind.
    Zack is right in back of me. We crash through the dried-up fountain that’s filled with crumpled leaves and circle the