Desperate Measures Read Free Page A

of adoption, did you? Nobody adopts six-year-olds, especially one who is all legs and arms with big eyes. People want babies and cuddly toddlers. Six-year-olds don’t have a chance. It’s cruel to tell them they might be adopted. Did you, Harriet?”
    â€œNo, Miss Andrews,” Harriet said in a small voice.
    â€œJust remember something, Harriet. Our taxes, yours and mine, are going to pay for this boy’s keep. Parents who are too stupid to provide for their families shouldn’t be allowed to have children. The boy’s parents appear to have been a shiftless lot.”
    â€œOh, no, Miss Andrews, I don’t think so,” Harriet said spiritedly. “Look at Pete’s clothing, it’s been mended beautifully. This little house is shabby, but it’s sparkling clean. I think they were just poor and fell on a streak of bad luck.”
    â€œIf that’s so, how do you account for that surfboard? I happen to know things like that cost a lot of money. There was hardly any food in the refrigerator, but there’s a surfboard. The price tag is still on it. Maybe it was stolen. Maybe we should think about taking it back and getting the money. The boy needs new shoes and a haircut.”
    â€œYou can’t do that, Miss Andrews. The board belongs to young Pete. The rules say his belongings go with him.” The edge in her voice made Pete open his eyes. “I can trim his hair, and I’m certain his shoes will last a few more months.”
    â€œYou’re getting involved, Harriet. I can’t allow this. Where is that child? Please tell me you didn’t give him permission to run off and say all those tearful good-byes that make you cry. I will not tolerate this, Harriet. I told you I wanted him right here where I could see him. He’s going to be squealing and crying as it is when we have to remove him from this rat trap. Now, where is he?”
    Pete turned and ran, down the hallway and out through the kitchen, pushing the screen door that sounded scary at night when it opened and closed. He ran across the back porch, down the four rotted steps, across the flower beds, through the hedges, over the Lampsons’ sprinkler and through their yard until he came to his friend’s yard. He bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Barney! Barney!”
    â€œI’m up here, Pete,” nine-year-old Barnaby Sims called down from the tree house in his backyard. “Come on up.”
    Pete scrambled up the rope ladder. “Pull it up, Barney. Don’t let them find me. Hurry up, Barney, pull up the ladder,” Pete sobbed. Barney responded to the fear in his friend’s voice and quickly pulled up the rope ladder. “What’s wrong, Pete?” he demanded as he busily stowed the homemade ladder under a wooden milk box that served as a seat and held such good things as bottle caps, a rusty penknife he wasn’t allowed to have, some cookies, and his and Pete’s prize mice.
    â€œThat lady came to take me away. The one with the ugly black shoes. I don’t want to go, Barney. Can I hide here? I won’t make any noise. You can sneak me food or give me your leftovers. I can take care of Harry and Lily. Can I stay, Barney, can I, huh?”
    â€œSure,” Barney said, sitting down in cross-legged Indian fashion. “Did they see you come here?”
    â€œNo, I ran real fast. They put all my stuff in grocery bags. That lady said ... she said . . . my mom and dad were a ... shiftless ... What’s that mean, Barney?”
    â€œI don’t know, Pete. Probably not something good.”
    â€œShe said no one will ’dopt me because they want babies and ... and something else. What’s that mean, Barney?”
    With nine-year-old wisdom, Barney said, “ ‘Adopt’ means when you get new parents. You can’t have a mom and a dad. That’s why you get adopted. They give you a new name and you call the new people Mom and