The Secret of Ferrell Savage Read Online Free PDF Page A

favor,” Ms. Goodkind said. She poured a little more orange juice into my cup, and I took a big swig. I held the pulp on my tongue and felt the hairs on my arms start to relax. “My son Jeffrey was wondering if he could bring you to his first grade’s show-and-tell.” She looked at her watch. “It starts in fifteen minutes.”
    â€œWow,” I said. “I’ve never been anyone’s show-and-tell before.”
    She stood up and smiled. “So, you’ll do it?”
    â€œSure, I guess.”
    â€œWould it be too much trouble if we swing by your house and get the sled, too? I’m sure the children would love to see it. We won’t let them touch it, of course,” she said.
    â€œThe sled’s gone. I haven’t seen it since I wrecked it on the hill.”
    â€œOh, my goodness. Yes, I remember reading in the newspaper that someone saw it blow away, like sparkling fairy dust in the wind.”
    â€œI hadn’t heard that one,” I said.
    She held the door open for me. “What a shame it couldn’t have been bronzed and put on display in our library. Imagine what that would do for our enrollment here at Garfield.”
    When we left Ms. Goodkind’s office, Ms. Bland was writing stuff down and talking to a kid I’d never seen before.
    â€œMs. Goodkind,” Ms. Bland said, “we’ll need you to sign here in order to complete this boy’s enrollment. His name is Bruce Littledood, and he’s been dropped off by his dad—”
    â€œI’m sorry, young man, but I’m not available at the moment, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.” Ms. Goodkindspoke rapidly. She whispered to Ms. Bland, “Perhaps you can offer him the sausage biscuit in my top drawer. Tell him to chew slowly, and hopefully, I will be back before he finishes.” Then she put her arm across my shoulders and said, “Come on, Ferrell, dear.”
    I looked around and caught a glimpse of a short kid wearing a plaid shirt. It was the kid with the fancy sled from the Big Sled Race, the kid who’d gotten all excited about my pollypry feather.
    I waved to him and said, “Go, Broncos.” Just a friendly little reminder to never accuse me of being a Packers fan.
    But he scowled at me and raised up his fist. Then, without making a noise, he mouthed something that looked like I’m going to get you.

Chapter Five
    ON OUR WAY HOME FROM the bus stop, I told Mary about how the plaid kid from the race was now a new kid at school. Neither of us remembered seeing him come down the hill, which wasn’t really surprising. After all, as Mary says, I’m the king of daydreaming, and she’d spent some time fuming after her drain had become unplugged.
    â€œI talked to him at the top of the hill before the race. We discussed aerodynamics. What’s his name again?” Mary asked.
    â€œBruce something-or-other . . . Peeweeman, I think. Or Littledude—yeah. That’s it. BruceLittledood.” I stood in front of her on the sidewalk and said, “What does it look like I’m saying when I do this?” And I mouthed the words, I’m going to get you.
    She blinked her eyes. “Do it again,” she said. And I did. “It looked like you said, ‘A burrito, achoo.’ ”
    â€œNo, that wasn’t what he said. It makes no sense. Here, look at me again, and I’ll say it slower.”
    I stood in front of Mary again, put my hands on her shoulders, and mouthed the words slowly.
    â€œThis is an invalid experiment, Ferrell. To test the results accurately, you needed to get him on tape saying whatever it was he said. There’s a safety camera behind Ms. Bland’s desk, and it tapes everyone who comes in. Maybe we can get access to that footage.”
    â€œToo much trouble,” I argued. “This is easier. Just tell me what you think I said.”
    Mary sighed and shook her head. “You