Pictures of Hollis Woods Read Online Free PDF Page A

road. After a moment we started up.
Steven lurched along. At one turn in the road he was all speed; the next he'd stop short, bent over, nose almost touching the ground. “Look at this, Holly, it's a raccoon print,” he'd say, or, “See the way this branch is cut off? Beaver, building a den where the stream comes off the mountain.”
The Old Man was right about the road: It was slippery, muddy in the shade, one side ready to slide off the mountain straight into the river. But worth it. “We going all the way to the top?” I drew in my breath. Did I want to do that, stand on top of the mountain, a mountain of trouble myself?
Steven shook his head. “Pop would have a fit.” He ran his hand over an imaginary beard. “The rocks fall, Steven, use your head,” he said in the Old Man's voice.
Halfway up was a spot that widened. We looked down and saw the house, and Izzy picking tomatoes, and we whistled at her until she waved, even though she couldn't see us.
Then we sank down on a rock and Steven fished in his pocket for a squished Hershey bar. “Should I give you half?” he asked. “You're not as big as I am.”
“Give me all,” I told him, laughing. “I'm more deserving.”
He held up both pieces, squinting. “The Old Man would say that.”
I knew that. Somehow the Old Man thought I was a great kid. How had that happened? I swallowed, thinking of the lemon lady: “You want tough?” she had said. “I'll show you tough.” And someone else, I didn't even remember who it was: “You've missed school half the term, how do you think you can get away with all this?”
But I was a new person with the Old Man, with Izzy, with Steven. It was as if the angry Hollis were seeping right out of my bones, leaving chocolate as soft as that sticky Hershey bar.
I looked at Steven, wondering if he minded that the Old Man thought I was great. But Steven was splitting the candy bar, and he gave me the bigger piece but did it quickly. I wasn't supposed to know. I took a breath.
I thought about the W picture in my backpack: the mother, the father, the brother, the sister.
And don't think of that, either, I told myself.

“ C ompany's coming,” Josie said. I looked up from my pad. I was drawing a picture of a boat I had seen at Josie 's canal: white with thin blue lines of trim, the name in script on back, Danbar-J, and the captain hosing down the deck. I couldn't remember what he actually looked like, so I sketched in his back, bent over, a watch cap on his head.
    “Who's coming?” I asked, but Josie had pattered away down the hall, with Henry following her.
    “It's Monday, right?” she called back. “It is,” I said, squiggling the pencil for shadow.
    “The movie is closed. My cousin Beatrice comes on Mondays.” She smiled. “I forgot. You don't know that. Remember, Beatrice had a lingering cold?”
    Ah, I thought. A lingering cold. Perfect for my next absence note. I looked around the kitchen. “Not much to eat in here.”
    She came back into the kitchen, a thin line of red on her lips. “Ah, but Beatrice brings dinner. Wait and see. It will be …” She patted her lips together.
    “Delicious?”
    She frowned. “Yes, but …”
    “Ah,” I said, trying to guess. “Stew? Pasta? Hero sandwiches?”
    She shook her head. “Delicious.”
    I finished my drawing and propped it up on the counter to see what I thought about it. And then I heard the back door, Beatrice bustling in, her arms laden with bags, and the smell …
    “Chinese food,” I told Josie.
    “Of course,” she said. “That's what we always have.”
    I put the plates out, the knives and forks, and Josie ladled the food into bowls: cashew chicken, moo goo gai pan, bean curd, the smells making my mouth water.
    Beatrice stood in back of me. I looked over my shoulder. She was leaning over, her head tilted, looking at my picture. “Did you draw this?”
    I nodded.
    She took off her glasses and chewed on one stem. “Surprising, isn't it?” she asked