Trapped Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Hello!

  My grandfather was a forest ranger in the Adirondacks and I loved going into the woods with him. But when I was about eleven years old, I became really uncomfortable with the fact that he hunted deer. I thought it was a cruel thing to do and thought that all animals should be allowed to live wild and free, without interference from people.

  My grandfather gently explained to me how the deer starved to death in the winter if the population grew too large. Plus, our family counted on the meat to eat. I could see the logic in his argument, but it was a struggle.

  Brenna Lake understands better than most. Her entire family rehabilitates injured wildlife and fights to make the world safer for all creatures.

  I hope you can find a way to help, too!

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  In memory of my grandfather, Henry Walton Holcomb

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Ellen Miles. Thanks also to Kimberly

  Michels, D.V.M.; Trish O’Connell of the Schuylkill Center Wildlife

  Rehabilitation Clinic in Philadelphia; Richard Peck of the Peck Petting

  Farm in Spring Green, Wisconsin; and the Sherman family.

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,

  Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Pleasant Company Publications, 2001

  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009

  Text copyright © Laurie Halse Anderson 2001, 2009

  All rights reserved

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15556-1

  eISBN : 978-1-101-15556-1

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any

  responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Chapter One

  First, I’m a dog. Then I’m a cat. Then a cobra, a frog, and a fish. No, I’m not some nut revisiting my past lives. I’m just doing yoga.

  It’s Sunday, and Mom and I are in the sunroom. Our house—it’s more of a cabin, really—is in the middle of a forest. But somehow, even with all those trees around, this room is always full of sun in the morning. The warm rays find me wherever I move as Mom and I go through each of the postures. I stretch and hold, paying attention to my breath and to how my body feels.

  My mom loves yoga because it’s relaxing and teaches her to “live in the moment.” She thinks it’s good for me for those reasons. But I love it because I get to be each animal as I do the postures. Have you ever seen a dog stretching first thing in the morning? Then you already know how to do the Downward Facing Dog, one of my favorite yoga postures. When I hold that pose, I’m not Brenna Lake anymore. I’m off in some other world.

  “Should we finish up with a Lion?” Mom asks.

  I grin at her. “Definitely.”

  “Me, too! Me, too!” My little brother, Jayvee, runs into the sunroom. He’s too squirmy to do a whole session of yoga with us, but he loves the Lion pose. So do I.

  We kneel facing each other. To do the Lion, you open your eyes really wide. Then you take a deep breath, open your mouth as far as you can, stick your tongue out, and go “Aaaaarrrrrhhh!”—roaring like a lion. Then you crack up, because everybody looks so hilarious.

  Mom, Jayvee, and I open wide and give our best roars. Then we all fall over on the soft beige rug, laughing our heads off. I grab Jayvee and give him a big hug. He’s still young enough to let me do that, sometimes.

  “Well,” Mom says, as we sit up and brush ourselves off. “At least we haven’t been abandoned by all our boys.”

  I smile sympathetically as she gives Jayvee a squeeze. Sunday mornings aren’t the same lately, and we’re both sad about it. Once upon a time, yoga was a family thing. But these days Dad is way too busy with his carpentry (he has a shop next to our house), and my older brother, Sage, has “more important things to do.”

  Sage is seventeen and Jayvee is seven. They both look almost exactly like my dad, with dark eyes and wavy brown hair, except Dad’s the only one with a beard and an earring in one ear.

  Sage and I used to be best buds. We hiked in the woods together, rode bikes, and worked in the critter barn with Mom and Dad. My parents are wildlife rehabilitators. Our family takes in and cares for injured wildlife until the animals can be released back into the wild.

  But lately Sage and I aren’t so close. He spends a lot of time in his room, working on the computer. And he’s also been going to meetings of this group he joined called Animals Always. It’s a bunch of local animal rights activists who are totally dedicated to their cause. They’re very active in this part of Pennsylvania, doing things like picketing stores that sell fur, campaigning against hunting, and writing letters to newspapers about all kinds of animal rights issues.

  Sage has become passionate about animal rights. It’s all he ever seems to think or talk about.

  I love animals, too. I always have. I spend most of my free time working with them, both at home and at Dr. Mac’s Place. That’s our local veterinary clinic, which is run by a very cool woman named J.J. Mackenzie, otherwise known as Dr. Mac.

  I’ll be heading over to the clinic later to join my friends Maggie Mackenzie and her cousin Zoe Hopkins (they’re Dr. Mac’s grandaughters), Sunita Patel, and David Hutchinson. We’ve all been volunteering at the clinic for a while now.

  I’ve learned so much about animals working with Dr. Mac. I love every minute I spend there, even if I’m not doing anything more exciting than mopping an exam room floor.

  So, you’d think Sage and I would have lots to talk about. And we do, as long as I’m willing to listen to him lecture about the terrible way lab monkeys are treated, or why nobody should wear anything made of fur or even leather.

  I understand his point. I mean, I can get angry about the way animals are treated, too. I’ve been known to lose my temper about it, fly off the handle a bit. (I’m working on that!) Mom says I’ve got to learn that everything isn’t always black and white, though I can’t see how hurting animals is ever anything but just plain evil. But Sage is going a little overboard with the animal rights thing, and I kind of miss the old days when we could just have a normal conversation.

  I think Mom’s a little worried about Sage, too. Animal
s Always members have been known to get themselves arrested or hurt just to get attention for their cause. I think Mom and Dad both have their fingers crossed that Sage will stay out of trouble. I know I do.

  “Want to help me in the critter barn?” Mom asks as we roll up our purple yoga mats.

  “Sure. Then can we make waffles?”

  “Absolutely!” Mom smiles at me.

  “Yay, waffles!” Jayvee jumps up and down. “I’ll tell Dad and Sage.” He runs off on his errand.

  As we leave the house, Poe flaps and caws at me. “OK, pal, you can come,” I tell him, bending toward his perch. He hops onto my shoulder and gives me a little nibble on the ear.

  Poe is my pet crow. His full name is actually Edgar Allan Poe. He was shot by a hunter and we rehabbed him, but his wing was ruined forever. Since he’ll never fly again, my folks let me keep him. But Poe is way more than a pet. Sometimes I think he may be the best friend I’ve ever had. He loves to make me laugh, he listens to everything I tell him without judging, and he’s always there when I need him. What more do you want in a friend?

  Mom and I work quickly in the critter barn, making sure that all our current “guests” have been fed and that their cages or tanks are clean.

  Sage surprises me by turning up to join us as we’re doing our rounds. “Haven’t seen the critters in a couple of days,” he mutters, stealing some lettuce from my basket to give to one of the turtles.

  At the moment, we’re caring for a sick raccoon, an owl with a broken wing, and two injured turtles someone found on the side of the road. I stick Poe into an empty bird cage while I work, since owls are crows’ worst enemies. I don’t need Poe—or the owl—getting all riled up.

  Seeing the turtles makes me so mad. Whoever hit them didn’t even stop the car! One of the turtles may be blind for life; the other one has a partially crushed shell and a broken foot. I grumble about how unfair it is that they were hurt.

  “Honey, it can be hard to see something that small when you’re driving,” my mother reminds me. She’s carrying an armload of hay to the raccoon’s cage.

  “Well, then, maybe some people shouldn’t have cars in the first place!” I say.

  Mom gets that look on her face. She thinks I’m doing that “black and white” thing again. Maybe I am. But I’m right. People should learn to get along without cars. There would be a lot fewer accidents, less pollution, and NO roadkill.

  Sage agrees with me. “Maybe somebody should throw some tacks on the road at strategic places,” he suggests, grinning a little to show that he’s just kidding. (Or is he?) “Maybe that would slow those drivers down. There’s no excuse for killing animals.” Now he’s not grinning anymore. He’s as mad as I am, maybe even angrier.

  Mom just shakes her head.

  I haven’t cooled down by the time we close up the barn. Poe always hates it when I get upset. So, instead of hopping onto my shoulder, he chooses to ride with Mom. I pretend not to care.

  We stop by the carpentry shop to let Dad know that brunch will be ready soon. He’s sanding some long planks, but when he sees us, he turns off the noisy machine for a minute.

  “Jayvee already informed me that we’re having waffles.” He grins as he wipes his forehead with a dirty red bandanna. “Sounds great! I’m starved.”

  No wonder. He’s working so hard! The shop is full of sawdust, and it looks much messier than usual. Normally, every tool is in its place and the shop is clean and tidy. But Dad just hasn’t been able to keep up with his orders lately. That’s a good thing for the family bank account but not such a good thing for Dad.

  “Sage, I could really use your help in here this afternoon,” he says.

  Sage just shakes his head. “Got a meeting,” he mumbles. He doesn’t meet Dad’s eyes.

  Dad sighs. “You know ...” he begins.

  Sage holds up a hand. “I know, I know. You’re working hard to save money for my college education. Well, I never asked you to!”

  My brother has been threatening not to go to college next year. He says it’s a waste of time and he wants to do something more “proactive,” whatever that means.

  Dad starts to answer, but Mom puts a hand on his arm. “We’ll talk about it later,” she says. “Why don’t you clean up? Waffles will be ready in ten minutes.”

  Sage disappears upstairs as soon as we get back in the house.

  Mom and I work together in the kitchen, making the batter for waffles and cutting up fresh fruit for a topping. Jayvee tries to help, too, but mostly he gets in the way.

  Just when I’m sure that I’m going to faint from hunger, brunch is ready. Dad comes in and washes up, but we have to call Sage three times before he hears us. When he’s on the Internet, he tunes everything else out.

  “Smells delicious!” Dad says as we sit down around the small kitchen table. It’s a tight fit, but I like being cozy. We clasp hands. Dad squeezes my hand, and I pass the squeeze along to Jayvee. He passes it to Mom, who passes it to Sage, who passes it back to my dad. The squeeze goes around and around, faster and faster, until we’re all squeezing at once. Then it’s time to eat.

  Dad spoons a big pile of strawberries and bananas onto his waffle and takes a huge bite. “Mmmm,” he says. “Spectacular!”

  The rest of us dig in, too. Except for Sage.

  He just sits there, looking down at his plate. “Are there eggs in here?” he asks, poking at his waffle, which is rapidly growing cold.

  Mom sighs. “Two. Is that a problem?”

  Sage pushes his plate away. “I guess I forgot to tell you,” he says. “I decided to go vegan.”

  Wow. That’s big news. Vegans are sort of like ultra-vegetarians. They don’t eat meat or any other animal products, like milk or eggs or cheese. Vegans don’t wear leather, and some of them won’t even eat honey because they believe it’s unfair to the bees to steal what they’ve created.

  “Oh, Sage,” Mom says. “Don’t you think—”

  “I do think,” he says, interrupting her. “I think about the appalling conditions that the chickens who lay those eggs live in. It’s barbaric to force animals to live that way! I won’t be a part of that kind of exploitation.” He shoves his chair back from the table. “I don’t know how the rest of you can live with yourselves,” he adds angrily. Then he stomps out of the room and back up the stairs.

  The kitchen is silent. We just sit there, stunned.

  I’ve lost my appetite.

  Chapter Two

  So, brunch is basically a total bust. Nobody talks much after Sage’s outburst. He may have left the room, but the tension hasn’t. Silently, we finish our waffles. Then Dad pushes his chair back and carries his plate to the sink. I help clear the table without being asked.

  “Want a ride to Dr. Mac’s?” my mom asks as she wipes down a counter. “I’m due at work in an hour. I can drop you off on the way.”

  Mom works at the local retirement home, Golden Age. The old people over there love her, because she’s always so upbeat. She’ll have to fake it today, though. I can tell she’s pretty upset about Sage.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll go for a walk,” I tell her. “I’ll bike over later.”

  I need some time in the woods. That’s where I go to relax, to think.

  “OK.” She smiles. “Oh, if you go to the creek, try to find some crayfish for the raccoon. And the turtles would love some—”

  “Mushrooms,” I say. “I know. I’ll bring a basket.”

  I get a basket and my jacket. I grab my camera, too. On my way out the door, Poe flaps and caws for attention. “Not this time, pal,” I tell him. I want to take some pictures, and he scares off the wildlife by cawing at the worst moments. To make up for not bringing him along, I offer Poe a couple kernels of popcorn, one of his favorite treats. He knows I’m buying him off, but his stomach gets the better of him, and he gobbles them down.

  “Bye, Mom,” I say. Dad’s already back in the shop, and Jayvee’s playing in the sunroom. Sage is up in his room, of co
urse.

  Mom gives me a quick hug. “Bye, honey.” She brushes back a strand of my brown hair, just like hers only without the gray, and looks into my eyes. Then she says, “Why don’t you see if Sage wants to go along? He could use some fresh air.”

  I want to tell Mom not to worry about him, but how can I? I’m worried, too. “Good idea,” I say.

  I kiss Mom on the cheek and take the stairs two at a time to Sage’s room. I poke my head in, but he’s focused on the computer screen. He doesn’t hear me clear my throat, or maybe he does and decides to ignore me.

  I don’t stick around to find out.

  I leave through the back door and set out on the path behind our house. There’s a whole network of trails through the nature preserve that surrounds our cabin, so I can take a different walk every day of the week. This time, I head toward the creek. There’s something about the sparkling clear water splashing over the mossy stones that helps to clear my head. When I’m upset, I go sit by the water and listen to it, and I always leave feeling better.

  I’m never bored in the woods, because the woods are always changing, depending on the season, the weather, and even the time of day. Right now, all the leaves are turning orange and gold and brown. The fallen ones rustle beneath my feet as I walk along, and I can smell their earthy scent. I pick up a few of the prettiest ones and put them in my basket. I’ll press them between wax paper to make decorations for our windows.

  Sage and I camped out here last summer, watching the stars shine through the pine boughs as we stayed up talking. We traded stories about school, and he told me what things were like when he was my age. Like how he declared himself a “pacifist” in sixth grade and got teased mercilessly. A bully named Steven Bauer made it hard for Sage to stick to his principles, but Sage never took the bait. I was proud of my big brother for that.

  I wonder if Sage would be able to put up with someone like Steven Bauer today. Sage seems so angry and obsessed lately. If we camped out now, he would probably just lecture me for hours.