Page 3 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
If she’d been really worried, she wouldn’t have let Max near Gunnar. But when Gunnar is around Max, Mom watches him, the way she might watch a dog she didn’t quite trust. The dog might seem friendly, but something about it put her on guard.
“You okay?” Gunnar asks when they fall in step together.
Max shrugs.
“Something up?”
Max is about to shrug again. Then he pauses and thinks.
Gunnar seems friendly. No, not seems. Max has met plenty of people who act that way but they aren’t. Gunnar is friendly. But there’s something else there, too.
Gunnar reminds Max of a stray cat that lived in their old neighborhood. A big ol’ tom, Mom called it. It even kinda looked like Gunnar—shaggy yellow hair and lots of muscles. It was always prowling around, but it’d come out to see Max and even let him scratch its ears. Max knew it wasn’t a pet, but it also wasn’t dangerous. At least, not to him.
Should he lie to Gunnar and say nothing’s wrong?
No, he really needs to tell someone, and he trusts Gunnar to know what to do with the information.
“I heard something in the forest,” Max whispers. “An animal. I wanted Carson to listen for it, but he thinks I’m imagining things, like the last time.”
“No one said you were imagining it the last time, kid. They just didn’t find whatever you saw. Tell me what I’m listening for.”
“Anything. A rustle of leaves. A crack of a twig. I’ve heard both. A few times.”
“Which side?”
Max jerks his chin left.
“Okay, let’s take a listen.”
Gunnar doesn’t seem like the type to humor kids, but he must be. Still, would Max rather Gunnar made fun of him for worrying, like Carson does? Or brushed him off, like grown-ups sometimes do, acting as if every fear is just a monster under the bed?
It doesn’t matter. Max has told an adult, as he’s supposed to, and Gunnar isn’t making a big deal out of it, which Kendra might have. If Gunnar doesn’t hear anything—
“Kid?” Gunnar leans sideways toward him. “Keep looking straight ahead.”
“Okay…”
“When I count to three, fall back a couple of steps. Just a couple. Then look over your left shoulder. There’s a dried-up stream over there.”
“I know.”
“Look on the other side of it. I think I see something big and brown.”
“Okay.”
“Count of three. Fall behind but only two steps. Stay close enough to run back to me.”
“Okay.”
Did Gunnar really see something? He might not seem the type to humor a kid, but he is the type to humor himself. Play along with Max because he’s bored.
Does Max trust Gunnar not to make fun of him? That’s the big question, because amusing yourself by playing along is something bullies do.
Does Gunnar seem like a bully? Max isn’t sure, but there’s no audience here to amuse. That’s what bullies do. They play along, and then you fall for it, and everyone laughs.
That’s one good thing about being in a town of grown-ups. No one’s going to laugh if Gunnar plays a mean joke on a ten-year-old.
“Kid?” Gunnar says. “You with me?”
