The Boy Who Ate Fear Street Read Online Free PDF

okay?” Mr. Sirk called.
    â€œJust getting my second wind,” I answered. I wiped the sweat from my eyes. Then I leaped to the top row—and my legs buckled.
    I managed to stay on my feet, but my knees wouldn’t stop shaking.
    What’s wrong with me today? This has never happened before.
    My heart began to race wildly.
    I tried to calm down, but I couldn’t. I pictured myself chomping on the sponge sandwich and eating the paste. Eating the paste — out of control .
    â€œKinny! What are you waiting for?” Mr. Sirk yelled.
    My legs trembled as I spun around.
    Concentrate! I ordered myself. Stop thinking and run!
    I stared down at the long rows of bleachers.
    I tried to clear my mind.
    I lifted my leg to take the first jump—and the gym began to spin.
    â€œNooooo!” I cried out as my foot missed the bleacher.
    I was falling. Falling.
    No way to stop.
    The next thing I knew, Mr. Sirk was leaning over me. “Kinny! Are you okay?”
    â€œUh-huh.” I nodded, struggling to my feet. “Wh-what happened?”
    â€œIt looked like you slipped up there,” Mr. Sirk replied. “Kevin stopped your fall on his way up.”
    Kevin stared at me oddly—as if I were a stranger.
    â€œYou’re usually good for half a dozen laps,” Mr. Sirk went on. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I answered, confused. “I wish I knew. I really wish I knew.”

10

    K evin and I walked home together after school. “What’s with you today?” he said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable.
    â€œWhat do you mean, what do I mean?” he replied. “You know what I mean.”
    â€œHey, guys! Wait up!” It was Lissa, running up behind us.
    â€œSam, you have to stop by our house before you go home,” she said, out of breath. “You have to see our new karate move. Right, Kevin?”
    â€œRight,” Kevin agreed. “Aunt Sylvie said she made contact with the spirit of Bruce Lee lastnight. She said he showed her one of his incredible moves. Then she taught it to us. She’s great at it. Maybe she’ll show it to you.”
    â€œCan I, um, see it tomorrow? I promised my mom I’d come straight home from school and help her clean out the basement,” I lied. My legs still felt wobbly, I wanted to go straight home, and I really didn’t feel like seeing Aunt Sylvie today.
    â€œOkay,” Lissa said. “But don’t forget. You really have to see this one!”
    â€œSure,” I said as I turned the corner to my house. “Tomorrow.”
    When I walked through my front door, I actually started to feel like my old self again. My legs seemed more solid, and I had my appetite back—my normal appetite, for some real food.
    â€œMom!” I yelled. “I’m home.”
    No answer.
    â€œMom! I’m home!” I yelled louder this time. “I’m hungry.”
    Still no answer.
    â€œI haven’t eaten anything all day, Mom!” I shouted.
    No reason to tell her about the paste. Right?
    Right.
    And I couldn’t anyhow. She wasn’t home.
    I dropped my backpack on the counter and opened the refrigerator. Rye bread, grape jelly, leftover beans. I scanned the shelves and grabbed two hard-boiled eggs.
    I sat down at the kitchen table and separated the whites from the yolks. On the chair next to me sat Mom’s newest doll—the biggest one she’s made so far. It was taller than I am, and it had long red hair and freckles. Almost finished, the only things missing were its eyes.
    I bet I know where Mom went, I realized. To find eyes for the doll.
    I popped a piece of the egg white into my mouth—and spit it out. It tasted bitter—and gritty. In fact, it scratched my tongue.
    There must have been eggshell stuck to it, I realized as I tossed it into the trash. A rotten egg with the shell still stuck to it—yuck.
    I bit into