Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat Read Free

narrow space between the brick wall and the bushes.
    One, two, three … She counted windows as she passed. There was Mr. Herbifore’s desk. Four, five … She lifted her head cautiously and looked through the window directly into the Rat’s cage. He had picked up her note and spread it against the wall of his cage, bracing it with his paws. And even though the bottom corner kept curling up, Emmy could read the note from where she crouched. It said:
    I’m sorry I was mean. It didn’t
feel as good as you said it would.
    Emmy
    P.S. Is respect ALL you want?
    The Rat’s mouth moved silently as he read the words. He was so close that Emmy could see a smallpatch of white fur just behind his left ear. She cleared her throat.
    The Rat whirled around, glared, and instantly turned his back.
    Leaves tickled Emmy’s neck, and the sun warmed her hands where they pressed against the windowsill. “It’s dumb,” she said at last, “to pretend I’m not here.”
    The Rat tapped one foot lightly, saying nothing.
    â€œIt’s not only dumb, it’s mean.”
    The Rat made an indistinct noise that sounded like “Huh!”
    â€œIt’s the meanest thing in the world,” said Emmy severely, “to ignore someone. It makes a person feel like she doesn’t even exist.”
    The Rat lifted his nose. “I’ll tell you what’s mean,” he said to the air. “It’s when certain people taunt imprisoned rodents about their … substandard housing. And it’s even worse,” he went on, his voice rising, “when I have to watch that !” He pointed over Emmy’s right shoulder.
    Emmy peered around the lilac bush. There was nothing much to see. Joe and his friends were on the soccer field, kicking a ball around. Beyond, throughthe trees, Emmy could see the storefronts of Main Street and the little studio where she took ballet every Wednesday afternoon. Farther down the hill to the left, she could just see the third story of her house, and its red-tiled roof, and her bedroom window. And after that was nothing but lake and sky.
    She looked back through the window at the Rat. “Watch what?” she asked curiously.
    The Rat waved his paw irritably at the soccer fields. A distant ball rose in a perfect arc, white and black against the greening trees, and a faint sound of cheering drifted across the grass. “I could do that,” the Rat muttered.
    â€œWhat? Kick a goal?”
    â€œBe a star.” The Rat gripped the bars of his cage. “I’ve practiced in my cage. Other rodents—they play, out there, in the moonlight. They try, but …” The Rat drew himself up to his full height. “I’d show them how it’s done. They’d be astonished. They’d elect me captain—”
    â€œRodents play soccer?” Emmy asked, incredulous.
    The Rat scowled. “Of course they play soccer,” he snapped. “What do you think they do for fun? Runabout, frightening elephants? Scavenge in churches for crumbs? Really, your ignorance is appalling. Modern rodents have many and varied interests.”
    â€œI—didn’t know,” Emmy stammered. “I’m sor—”
    â€œAnd don’t apologize! You do that all the time!”
    Emmy frowned.
    The Rat sighed. “Shouldn’t you be getting home? Won’t your parents be worried?”
    â€œThey’re out of town.” Emmy shrugged. “Anyway, Wednesdays I have ballet after school, and then French, so nobody’s expecting me yet.” She stared out past the trees and toward the lake, and pointed. “There’s my house.”
    The Rat squinted. “What? That castle-looking thing?”
    â€œIt does look a little like a castle,” Emmy admitted. “My bedroom’s in that top turret—with the blue window.”
    The Rat looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s a lot bigger than the other