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Salt

Page 9

by Helen Frost


  You don’t need to plan out the whole story before you begin writing.

  See what you discover about the story from each character’s point of view.

  When two girls meet at camp, they recognize each other immediately. Six years before, an accidental kidnapping transformed both of their lives. But neither of them knows the whole truth of what happened. What will they do, now that they’re sharing a cabin—and a powerful secret?

  Read on for a sneak peek of

  HIDDEN.

  1

  I was a happy little girl wearing a pink dress,

  sitting in our gold minivan,

  dancing with my doll, Kamara.

  I’ll be right back, Mom promised.

  Leave the music on, I begged,

  so she left her keys

  dangling

  while she

  ran in to pay for gas

  and buy a Diet Coke.

  2

  I think about that little girl

  the way you might remember your best friend

  who moved away.

  Sitting in the middle seat

  beside an open window,

  her seatbelt fastened,

  she looked out at the world.

  3

  And then she heard

  a gunshot

  from inside the store.

  That’s when she—when I—

  stopped breathing.

  I clicked my seatbelt off,

  dived into the back, and

  ducked down on the floor

  to hide

  under a blanket

  until Mom

  came back out.

  I heard the car door open, heard it close.

  The music stopped.

  Why? Mom liked that song.

  I breathed again. (Mom smelled like cigarettes.)

  I pushed the blanket off my face,

  opened my mouth

  to ask,

  What happened in there?

  But then I heard a word Mom wouldn’t say.

  A man’s voice.

  C’mon! Start! He was yelling at our car—

  and the car

  obeyed him.

  It started up

  just like it thought

  Mom was driving.

  4

  Who was driving?

  Had this man just shot someone? Had he

  shot … Mom?

  If he found out I was back there

  what would he do to me?

  I pulled the blanket back over my face.

  (Pretend you’re Kamara.

  Don’t breathe. Don’t move.

  Be as small as you can—smaller.)

  Sand on the floor of the car. I pressed hard.

  It stuck to my skin.

  I pressed harder.

  (Breathe

  if you have to,

  but don’t move a muscle.)

  Like a small rabbit

  that knows a cat is close by,

  I paid attention. I didn’t

  twitch.

  5

  I could tell which way we were headed—

  we stopped at the King Street stoplight.

  Left turn … right turn … left …

  He sped up.

  Was he trying to throw the police off our trail?

  He stopped, got out of the car.

  Where were we?

  He got back in,

  drove off faster.

  Sirens?

  Yes—coming closer!

  One time in first grade,

  a police officer came to our class.

  “If someone tries to grab you,” she said,

  “wave your arms, kick your legs.

  Yell at the top of your lungs,

  THIS MAN IS NOT MY FATHER.”

  The sirens meant

  someone might stop us—

  I could jump up.

  I could wave.

  I could yell.

  But it didn’t happen.

  We drove faster, farther.

  The sirens

  faded away in the distance.

  Long straight road … curvy road …

  Fast for a while. No stops.

  Right turn.

  Left turn.

  Stop. Go. Turn …

  I swallowed the panic that rose.

  I didn’t throw up.

  6

  Sound of gravel. Dust in my throat.

  (Don’t cough!)

  Bumping along that dusty road,

  screaming inside.

  (Dad, where are you? Mom?)

  A phone rang—Dad’s ring on Mom’s phone!

  Mom must have left her phone in the car.

  Her whole purse, down on the floor?

  (Do not—do not!—jump up and grab it.)

  I clenched my hands together.

  GPS, the man snarled—I heard him dump

  Mom’s purse upside down.

  He opened a window.

  He closed it.

  (Did he just toss Mom’s phone out the window?)

  7

  I put my thumb in my mouth

  like a little baby. I pulled my knees

  to my chin, and closed my eyes tight.

  Where were we going?

  What would happen to me when we got there?

  After a long time—

  it felt like hours—

  the car slowed down.

  We made a sharp turn.

  We stopped.

  He got out.

  I heard a garage door open.

  He got back in the car.

  Forward.

  Stop.

  The garage door came down.

  The car door opened, slammed shut.

  I heard a dog.

  Barking or growling?

  In the garage or outside?

  Another door opened

  and closed.

  Had the man gone somewhere?

  8

  Carefully, I pushed back the blanket

  and looked around.

  I was alone

  in a very dark place.

  I might have been wrong about Mom’s phone.

  I kept my head low,

  climbed into the middle seat,

  leaned far enough forward

  so I could see into the front.

  Mom’s water bottle—not quite empty.

  A chocolate chip granola bar.

  Kleenex.

  ChapStick.

  Checkbook.

  Calendar.

  Her little album of pictures—

  me and Alex, her and Dad.

  No wallet—she took that into the store.

  No phone.

  9

  Where was I?

  A messy garage—rakes and shovels,

  gas cans and broken-down boxes.

  In the garage door,

  higher than I could reach,

  three small windows,

  a few rays of sun shining through them.

  Behind an old freezer—

  a door—to outside?

  A red-and-white boat

  on a trailer

  right next to the car.

  If I could get out fast enough, he’d never know I was there.

  I told myself what to do, and I did it:

  Quietly—get out of the car with Kamara.

  Take the granola bar. Leave the water—

  if I take that, he might notice it’s gone.

  Carefully tiptoe across the floor.

  (The dog—outside—still growl-barking.)

  Squeeze behind the freezer.

  Try to open the side door.

  Locked

  with a padlock

  the size of my fist.

  10

  The freezer was empty, unplugged—it wouldn’t be cold.

  Could I get inside, and hide there?

  No. A boy on the news

  got stuck inside an old freezer—

  he suffocated to death

 
before his mom found him.

  I shivered.

  ALSO BY HELEN FROST

  Keesha’s House

  The Braid

  Diamond Willow

  Crossing Stones

  Hidden

  Room 214: A Year in Poems

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Helen Frost is the author of several books for young people, including Hidden, Diamond Willow, Crossing Stones, The Braid, and Keesha’s House, selected an Honor Book for the Michael L. Printz Award. Helen Frost was born in 1949 in South Dakota, the fifth of ten children. She recalls the summer her family moved from South Dakota to Oregon, traveling in a big trailer and camping in places like the Badlands and Yellowstone. Her father told the family stories before they went to sleep, and Helen would dream about their travels, her family, and their old house. “That’s how I became a writer,” she says. “I didn’t know it at the time, but all those things were accumulating somewhere inside me.” As a child, she loved to travel, think, swim, sing, learn, canoe, write, argue, sew, play the piano, play softball, play with dolls, daydream, read, go fishing, and climb trees. Now, when she sits down to write, her own experiences become the details of her stories. Helen has lived in South Dakota, Oregon, Massachusetts, New York, Vermont, Scotland, Colorado, Alaska, California, and Indiana. She currently lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana, with her family. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Map

  Introduction

  Characters

  Salt in the Sea, Salt on the Earth

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Salt’s Long, Slow Journey

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Salt Crystals Shine

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Deer Come to the Salt

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  This Gaze, These Deep Brown Eyes

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  The Deer’s Heart

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  The Deer’s Life and our Life

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  Veins Like Rivers

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Salt Inside the Words

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  Salt Streaks

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  James

  Anikwa

  Now the Sugar Maple

  Notes

  Glossary of Miami (Myaamia) Words

  Acknowledgments

  A Conversation with Helen Frost

  Discussion Questions

  Writing from Two Points of View

  Teaser

  Also by Helen Frost

  About the Author

  Copyright

  An Imprint of Macmillan

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  mackids.com

  SALT. Copyright © 2013 by Helen Frost. All rights reserved.

  Square Fish and the Square Fish logo are trademarks of Macmillan and are used by Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers under license from Macmillan.

  Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  Frontispiece map art by Laszlo Kubinyi. Map research assistance from the Myaamia Center at Miami University, which consulted Helen Hornbeck Tanner and Miklos Pinther’s Atlas of Great Lakes Indian History, pages 96–121.

  Originally published in the United States by Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers

  First Square Fish Edition: 2015

  Square Fish logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  eISBN 9781250127075

  First eBook edition: May 2016

 

 

 


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