"Mary Rosenblum - Color Vision" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

sneak you in there and nobody’ll know we’re there. Maybe he’ll be afraid to
do anything right in someone’s backyard. Man, will I get in trouble if I get
caught.”

And I don’t think he really wants us to go there, but we can’t think of
any other place. And maybe he’s right and Zoroan will be afraid to do
any-thing so close to houses and people. I don’t think that’s going to matter
to him, but like I say, we can’t think of anything better. So we go.

It’s kind of a weird walk. Some trees, mostly the really old ones, you
can almost see this person inside. It’s like they’re made of see-through
glass and someone is inside the trunk, only the glass isn’t really clear, so
you can’t make out a face. And I’m pretty sure I see the little people I used
to see with my mother . . . the Shy Folk, she called ‘em. And Jeremy is
seeing ‘em, too; I can tell by the way he looks quick, then stares. I guess
it’s be-cause we’re with Cris.

I’m kind of sorry when we get to Jeremy’s house. It’s in one of those
nice developments, all nice houses and neat yards with swing sets and
flow-ers. Jeremy’s house is at the edge, and the backyard comes right to
the woods. His fort is back here, kind of out of sight. I bet it embarrasses
his mom because it’s a mess of plywood and stuff and he built it himself.
We sit out there sometimes and talk about school and listen to CDs that his
mom says are bad for us.

It sure doesn’t look real safe from Zoroan. But the owl with the
glow-ing eyes flits down to settle on a limb of the old apple tree it’s built in,
so maybe it’s better than nothing. We help Cris up into the fort and
scramble up after, and I’m looking around everywhere for silver glitter, but I
don’t see any.

I like it, inside. Clean plywood floor, even if it’s gray and weathered,
shelves made out of old apple crates turned on their sides, full of CDs,
books, and stuff like that. I like it better than some of the dumps we’ve
rented. Cris kind of falls down on the old sofa cushions against the wall.

“You okay?” Jeremy asks.

“I guess so,” Cris says. “Just tired.”

“Look, I’d better get in the house.” Jeremy glances over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna be in trouble for being late, even if the school didn’t call about
me skipping out. I’ll see if I can sleep out here tonight. It’s a weeknight, but
sometimes Mom lets me anyway. I’ll sneak you out some food and stuff.”

“Water, too, okay?” Soon as I say that, I’m dying of thirst. I bet Cris is,
too.

“There’s some pop out here. I hid a couple of cans here last week so
Mom wouldn’t know.” Jeremy rummages in the apple crates, brings out a