but my own words were smothered by the gigantic rumbling. I felt dwarfed. I felt a hand in my pocket, and it was not my own hand. A brown arm had snaked in around my waist.
The Shompen boy was picking my pocket. ‘Hey!’ I objected, grabbing at the stick-thin arm. But it was gone, and so was my money pouch, packed with my birthday rupees. .
The small Shompen boy darted between the palms on the edge of the beach. He would disappear now, I knew it, and I would never catch him. The Shompen were like ghosts in the jungle. But for some reason, the boy stopped.
He turned and waved my pouch at me. A taunt that no thirteen-year-old boy could resist. That little thief may have been Shompen, but my legs were fast. I forgot the wave and ran.
It was quite a chase. I could run, but the Shompen boy could read the jungle Why was the narrator surprised when the Shompen boy spoke to him? “The giant wave made me catch my breath.” Why did he say so? Unit- - - Critical - - like an open book.
Every dip in the sandy clay, and every root that snaked from the earth to trip us, seemed to be a part of his plan. A quiver of arrows clattered on his belt as he ran, and I noticed a short bow across his belt. He wouldn’t shoot me. Surely not.
I almost called off the chase, but the boy seemed to sense my reluctance and waved my pouch over his head like a trophy. My brow burned, and I sucked a deep breath, sending the oxygen to my muscles. Faster, I told myself. You are the taller boy.
You will snap his arrows across his own legs. . So, for five seconds I ran faster, then the world changed forever. My ears were filled with the sound of my blood boiling, or so I thought.
But the sound grew loud, filling the air, drowning out the insects. It was the wave, howling towards the