Splat!
By Eric Walters
3/5
()
About this ebook
Eric Walters
Membre de l’Ordre du Canada, Eric Walters a écrit plus de 125 livres qui ont remporté une centaine de prix, dont un prix littéraire du Gouverneur général pour The King of Jam Sandwiches. Eric, un ancien enseignant, s’est lancé en littérature jeunesse pour intéresser ses élèves de cinquième année à la lecture et à l’écriture. Chaque année, il fait des présentations devant plus de mille cent jeunes aux quatre coins du pays. Il habite à Guelph, en Ontario.
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Book preview
Splat! - Eric Walters
1
chapter one
The police car turned down the lane and crept along the dirt road toward us.
I nudged Keegan.
Yeah, I see it,
he said.
Keegan turned away to stare out at the lake. I watched the car out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t want the cops to know that I’d even seen them. The car came to a stop on the other side of the fence, across the stretch of beach from where we sat on the picnic bench.
Could you see who’s in the car?
he asked.
Couldn’t tell.
We knew every cop in town. Just like every cop knew us.
What do you think they’re doing?
I asked.
Probably just looking for a place to have a donut and catch up on their sleep.
I hope that’s all that they want,
I said.
Alex, you sound guilty.
"I’m not guilty. Besides, we really aren’t doing anything wrong."
The day is young,
Keegan said.
He turned slightly and gave me that smirky smile of his—the one he often flashed before we started to do something we shouldn’t.
There was a honking of a car horn, and I almost spun around to look, but didn’t.
Ignore him,
Keegan said. He probably isn’t aiming that at us anyway.
"Who do you think he’s honking at?"
Don’t know. Don’t care. If he wants us he’ll have to do more than just tap on his—
The siren of the car screamed for a few seconds, cutting off the end of Keegan’s sentence.
Well?
I asked.
Probably wants somebody else.
There’s only us and them,
I said, gesturing toward a woman and her two little kids, wading in the water. The rest of the beach was deserted. It was overcast, and it had been raining or there would have been a lot more people.
You know, she does look a bit suspicious,
Keegan said.
The woman with the kids?
You think she kidnapped those children?
I chuckled. I guess there’s a possibility,
I admitted. Not big, but a statistical possibility.
And if anybody knows the statistics it would be you.
I had this strange ability to memorize statistics and play with numbers— especially when those numbers involved money.
Keegan and Alex!
the PA system of the police car blared out.
I recognized the voice. It was Clyde. Keegan looked over at me. "I guess they do want us."
He went to stand up, and I put my hand on his shoulder to hold him in place.
"Maybe those kids are named Keegan and Alex, I said, pointing down the beach at the toddlers,
and the police want them and not their mother."
Keegan burst into laughter and sat down again.
I know you can hear me!
Clyde’s amplified voice called out. "Get off that picnic table and come here, now!"
Keegan looked over at me. He pointed at the table, then at himself and then at me. I knew what he meant—picnic table, Keegan, Alex—we fit all the pieces.
What would happen if we just kept ignoring him?
Keegan asked.
They’d probably come over and get us,
I said. But they wouldn’t be happy.
How about if we ran?
he questioned.
Even less happy when they did catch us,
I said.
"They couldn’t catch us. Clyde would be out of breath just walking over here, so forget the running part. We could out-walk the two of them easy."
But since they know where we hang out, go to school and live, I think that even the two of them would eventually catch us.
Good point,
said Keegan.
Aren’t you at least a little bit curious to know want they want?
I asked.
Curiosity killed the cat.
We heard the car’s doors slam. They’d gotten out of the car.
Okay, we’ll go over,
he said.
Keegan stood up and raised his hands over his head—his skateboard in one hand. I did the same thing.
Don’t shoot!
he yelled. We are not armed!
With our arms above our heads we slowly walked over. I couldn’t believe how heavy my skateboard was when I held it above my head. I wished we could put our hands down as we walked across the strip of beach.
What exactly are you two doing?
Clyde asked.
Beside him was his partner, Bernie. Everybody—including all the other cops— called them Bonnie and Clyde like the old-time gangsters. They weren’t amused by that. Everybody else was very amused.
We didn’t want to risk you taking a shot at us for resisting arrest,
Keegan said.
Believe me, I’d like to give both of you a shot—a swift kick in the butt.
Sounds like police brutality,
Keegan suggested. What would the chief of police think about that?
"He’d probably give us a raise and a promotion. Get in the car."
We weren’t doing anything wrong,
I said.
"Chief wants to see both of you right away, so I figure you were