by Mary Penney
I took a deep icy swig, and then another, and another. I ignored the deep stabbing pain in my right eye from the cold. It was worth it. I grabbed Switch’s shoulder to turn him around. “Just tell me one thing. Did you steal this bike from Ginger?”
“Steal it?” he asked, giving me an annoyed look. “No way. I like the old girl.”
He had completely evaded my question. “Switch! Does she know that you have her bike?”
He broke eye contact with me for just one flea-sized second, but I caught it.
“Of course she knows!” he said.
“‘Of course she knows’ as in she’s calling the police right about now?”
“No! I wouldn’t steal from an old lady—especially one that is off her nut.”
“Ginger’s not off her nut!”
“Yeah, she is—trust me. I can tell with old folks. Some of them seem perfectly normal when you first talk to them, and then the next minute, they think they are beekeepers. I just told her that I have a special driver’s license for animal search and rescue, and she believed me.”
“So you lied to her?”
“I told her what she needed to hear, so she wouldn’t worry about me being on the bike. Big difference. I don’t hurt old people. Ever.”
I just stared at him, trying to decide if he was really kind or one big fast-talker. Maybe he was both.
“You worry too much, kid,” he said.
I drew a shaky breath. “Let’s go,” I said, looking away. I tried to fluff up the small seat pillow in the sidecar, but it was unfluffable. My butt was killing me. I heard something jingle under the pillow and lifted up a corner. The other side of the pillow was thick with white hair. Dog. I reached down and lifted the bright-blue collar, read the engraving on the tag: “Mr. McDougall. If lost, please call (555) 555-0190.”
I studied it a minute and then wrapped the collar around my wrist twice. Switch tore out of the gas station, throwing me back in my seat. I righted myself and then rubbed Mr. McDougall’s tag between my fingers, warming the metal. I pictured his face from all the photographs I’d seen at Ginger’s. He really had one of those great dog faces—loyal, noble, and funny, all rolled up in one furry mug. I honestly wanted to find him. Ginger’s face came to me then, and with it, an ache in my gut. The times when I was with Ginger, I couldn’t tell which one of us the ache belonged to.
Whatever the case, I just wanted to make it go away. For both our sakes.
Okay, Mr. McDougall. Here’s the deal. You help me find my dad today, and I’ll get you and your mom back together. If you’re anywhere around, I’m going to find you. Tomorrow, you have my undivided attention. Deal?
I rubbed the tag again on his collar to seal the deal. And swear I thought I heard a dog bark over the roar of the engine.
Hours later Switch and I tore into half-pound burgers at Los Robles Drive ’n’ Dine, on the edge of town. I lathered my fries in thick ketchup and almost drooled on the table. Being on the open road all this time had made us ravenous.
By midmorning Switch had eaten all the snacks that I’d planned for lunch. He was the hungriest kid I ever met. But since I was at his mercy, I made it my mission to keep him fed and watered. The closer I got to Dad, the less important being angry at Switch seemed.
Switch cocked his head over at me. Nodded toward my hand gripping a drippy burger. “You got some big mitts, kid. Ever think of playing basketball?”
I choked down a large piece of meat. “I play soccer.”
“That’s cool. You any good?” he asked.
I took a long drink of soda. “I dunno. I do all right. My dad was a good soccer player when he was a kid.”
“Your parents split up?”
I shook my head and then paused. “I’m not sure what they are right now. That’s why I’m going to see him. I have to figure it out. What about your folks?” I asked, and then wished I could have grabbed the question back. Not a great question for somebody who lives in a foster home.
Switch unfolded his napkin and wiped each of his fingers carefully. He was a very tidy eater for a boy. I quickly wiped my mouth.
“Never knew my dad, really. He went off to fight in Iraq and never made it back. He didn’t die— He just didn’t come back to us.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but I knew it did.
“He might as well be dead. I’ve got no respect for a dude who leaves his wife and kids. He never even sent money. My mom— She works a lot. Day and night, sometimes. She ended up doing drugs, just so she could keep up and stay awake. Ended up getting busted for driving high with us kids in the car. So, the county split us up. Sent me to foster care, and my baby sister, Elle, got sent to this rich family who are trying to adopt her. She’s about your age, you know.”
“Do you like your foster parents?” I asked.
Switch snorted. “Which ones?” He reached over and jangled the dog collar still wrapped around my wrist. “Nice bracelet, kid. Part of your new fall fashion look?”
I crossed my arms against my chest. “It’s Mr. McDougall’s collar. I found it under the pillow in the sidecar.”
Switch grinned. “You really think you’re going to find that old pooch, huh?”
“I’ll find him before you do, that’s for sure.” I crumpled up my hamburger wrapper and sucked down a thick mouthful of mocha chip shake.
“I wouldn’t count on that. I know every neighborhood, every park, every inch of sidewalk in that town. Heck, I’ve lived in half the houses in town. If that dog is still alive, I’m going to find him.”
“Well, if you did,” I said, “but you won’t, what would you do with the reward money?”
Switch slunk down in the booth and got a dreamy look on his face. I could hear his skateboard beneath the table as he softly rolled it back and forth under his feet. I’d pretty much figured out that his board was his grown-up version of a blankie.
He sighed. “First I’d buy some new wheels—probably an Enjoi Whitey Panda.” He pretended to pop a small wheelie under the table and grinned. “That is one sweet board! Then—” He stopped to munch a fry. “Oh, I don’t know, I’d probably throw a big old party at Villa Rosa for the old folks there.” He smiled at the thought. “I’d hire one of those old-timer bands, get some fancy restaurant to bring in food, maybe have it outside on the lawn. I’d get some waiters in tuxes to come serve everybody. You know, a real classy party.”
I just shook my head. “The skateboard I would have assumed. A party at a nursing home? That I would not have guessed in a gazillion years.”
He wiped carefully around his plate with his napkin and then shrugged. “A nursing home is even worse than foster care or a group home. And it’s not like they did anything to deserve it. Other than getting old.”
He smoothed the sides of his hair with the heels of his hands and tossed me one of his charming smiles, one meant to change the subject. “So, what would you do if you got the reward money?”
“Well, I’d be splitting it with Twee,” I said right off. “She’s saving for a trip to Vietnam. She wants to find some of her family, maybe her real parents if she can.”
Switch nodded approvingly. “That’s rip.”
A busboy with bad skin and a wannabe skater attitude came by and filled up our water glasses. He looked at Switch like he’d just found Elvis. Even this many miles from his home turf, Switch gave off seriously cool vibes. Switch rewarded him with a quick jerk of his chin.
I took a deep breath. “And with my half, I’m putting it in my special account that my grandmother started for me when I was a baby. I’m saving up to get her coffee shop back from Chuck,” I said. My mouth curled over his name, like I’d just licked the bottom of someone’s shoe.
“You want to run a café?” he asked, surprised.
“Well, no—not really,” I admitted. “But I don’t want him to have my nana’s coffee shop. He’s just ruined it. Not to mention the fact that he pretty much stole it from my family.”
“Chuck? Really? He seems like a r
ighteous guy.”
“Oh, he acts nice, all right. That’s how he gets away with stuff. Charms everyone to death. After my nana died, he started nosing around, calling my mom all the time, sweet-talking her. My dad was a wreck, and Chuck knew it. He took total advantage of my mom and swindled the family out of the café.”
“Didn’t your dad know your mom was selling it?” he asked. “I mean it belonged to your dad, too, right? Your mom couldn’t sell it behind his back.”
“Yeah, sure, he told her it was okay,” I said, decapitating a French fry with a quick snap of my front teeth. “My mom convinced him we needed the money for the new baby and everything. But I think it broke his heart that my mom sold the shop right out from under him. My dad gave up his career in the army and everything to run Nana’s, but my mom wouldn’t give him a chance.”
Switch fiddled with his fork, watching me. “Well, at least Chuck kept it a coffee shop and kept her name in it. That’s pretty respectful. And he’s got that big picture of her up in there.”
I swallowed. I didn’t know he had kept her picture up. I hadn’t been inside to see it.
“I mean, what if he changed it to a tire store named Chuck’s Discount Whitewalls or something? That would have been tons worse.”
I threw the fry down onto my plate. “Why are you sticking up for him? He’s a snake.”
He shrugged. “All I know is he’s been pretty cool to me. Treats me good. Gives me free stuff sometimes.”
I blushed, thinking of the hundreds of free Snow Whites I’d had “on the house” from Chuck.
“Well . . . you haven’t heard everything,” I said.
Switch raised a brow.
“I think he’s in love with my mother,” I blurted.
“Not a chance of that,” Switch said matter-of-factly. He smiled and looked out the window. Then paled and froze.
I followed his gaze toward the motorcycle. Two highway patrol officers in enormous leather jackets were standing over it. And judging by the look of panic on Switch’s face, I had a very bad feeling that the cops thought they’d just found themselves a stolen vehicle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Switch ducked way down into the booth until I could just barely see his eyes over the tabletop. “We gotta get out of here,” he whispered.
I scootched down with him, my heart banging.
“Out the back,” he mouthed. “Stay down, though.”
I nodded dumbly.
“Ready?” he asked. “Let’s go!”
“Wait! We haven’t paid yet,” I whispered.
Switch rolled his eyes at me and shot out of the booth. I pulled a wad of cash from my pocket and slapped it on the tabletop. I followed his path through the kitchen, keeping my head down, just waiting for someone to grab the back of my neck. Old Beach Boys music blared over the hum of dishwashers.
Switch eased open a rickety screen door and took a quick look back for me. “Hurry!”
We closed the door quietly behind us and looked around the back. All clear.
“Now what?” I peeped.
“Shhh! Listen!” He froze.
Heavy boots crunched in the gravel to the left of us, along with the unmistakable sound of walkie-talkie static, coming closer.
“C’mon!” he said, and raced toward the Dumpster.
I sprinted after him and ducked behind the back of it with him. He peeked around the side.
“Quick, get in!” He grabbed me below my bottom and hoisted me up. I did an ugly swan dive right into the middle of Drive ’n’ Dine’s garbage. Switch landed smack on top of me. He muffled my yelp with a tight hand over my mouth and rolled off me.
“Don’t-move-don’t-make-a-sound,” he said slowly into my ear. His breath was hot and tangy, like the hamburger he’d just inhaled.
Switch put his head down into my shoulder. He kept his hand over my mouth, like I might burst into song or start shouting any moment.
The screen door banged, and muffled voices came from the back of the restaurant. And a lot more footsteps kicking around in the gravel.
I peeled Switch’s hand off my mouth and took a gulp of air. Big mistake. It stank way, way bad in Dumpsterville.
Switch lifted his head and tried to listen to what they were saying. The music from the kitchen was too loud. But one of the cops kept talking into his radio. Switch looked at me a moment and then squinched up his face in pain. He put his mouth next to my ear again. “My board! I left it inside.” He shook his head and muttered a cussword I would never repeat.
The screen door banged again, and it got quiet. The music cut off abruptly.
Switch shifted a bit in the pile of garbage. Then whispered the cussword again.
“Did you steal Ginger’s bike?” I hissed.
He shook his head. “No! I already told you that.”
“Then why are we hiding?”
He clapped his hand over my mouth again. “Shhh!”
The back door banged, and footsteps crunched toward us. We both froze, and I squeezed my eyes so tight I almost crushed my eyeballs.
A large box came over the top of the Dumpster and was set gently next to us. I opened one eye one-quarter to peek.
Busboy grinned down at Switch. “Brought your wheels, dude,” he said softly, pointing to the box.
“Thanks, man!” Switch said. “Those cops gone yet?”
Busboy glanced over his shoulder. “Naw, they’re back out front, nosing around your bike. Guess they wanted to ask you about it, what year it was and everything. When you guys split out back, they got, like, totally curious ’bout it, man. But Mac the owner was cool. Said you’d paid your bill and everything, so no sweat with him.”
I elbowed Switch in his side.
“But if you leave your bike there all day, Mac’ll probably tow ya.”
“Thanks, bro’. Think we’ll hang here for a while. Will you come tell us when the cops leave?”
“Course, man. But these guys are regulars. Good eaters, too. They’re gonna knock back a couple of burgers and about a tank of coffee before they leave.”
“Oh, great,” I groaned. I pinched my nose shut a minute and took a deep breath from my mouth.
“Does the city bus come by here?” Switch asked.
Busboy nodded and motioned with his head over his shoulder. “Yea, every half hour or so. Picks up across the street about three blocks down.”
The screen door squeaked open. “CAL-VIN! Quit squirrelin’ around and get back in here, will you?”
Calvin reached into the Dumpster and rapped knuckles with Switch.
Switch waited until he heard the door slam again, and then sat up. He took a quick peek at his board in the box. As if to make sure Calvin hadn’t accidentally brought him an inferior model.
I tried to rearrange myself into a semicomfortable squat. And tried hard not to look at what I was squatting on. But I couldn’t help notice that it smelled like I was perched on top of a dead sea lion.
“What time is it?” Switch whispered.
“Ten after two,” I said.
“Okay, here’s the deal. We gotta split up for a while.”
“What?”
“Look. You need to get to town and see your old man. I’ve got to stay with the bike. We can’t take a chance of them towing it. I’ll wait here. You grab the next bus.”
I bit down hard on my lip. The bus? I didn’t like the sound of this.
“Or you can walk into town instead,” he said. “Which is gonna take most of the afternoon. Or you find a phone to call a cab. But that’s probably going to cost twenty bucks or so.” He paused. “It would be a pretty short bus ride. It’s okay, Macy. You can do it.”
I counted out the bills left in my pocket. Eleven bucks. Looks like I’d accidentally left the waitress and Calvin about a fifteen-dollar tip. Between gas, snacks for the trip, and the load I’d just left inside, I’d pretty much blown my whole trip fund.
“Sorry,” he said, watching me fold the bills back. “I’ve only got a coupl
e of ones with me.” He reached over and flicked a pickle slice off my arm. “It’s like this. It’s your deal, you call it. You can either take the bus now or hang out here until the cops leave, which could be another hour. And there’s a chance we’re gonna get towed even before they leave. Then we’re really stuck. So, if you need to see your dad today, I’d take the chance and bust out of here now.”
“How are we going to find each other later?” I asked.
“You’re going downtown, right?”
I shrugged. “That’s where I’m starting. It’s the only address I have.”
“There’s a big music store right downtown called Boomtown Sounds. Meet me there at six o’clock,” he said. “That’ll give us two hours or so of good daylight to drive. If we haul it, we could be back by ten p.m. It’ll be tight, but we can do it.”
“What if I can’t get there by six?” I said, a lot of worry and a little whine creeping into my voice.
“Then call Boomtown and leave a message there for me. And if you get there, but I can’t, I’ll leave a message for you.”
I nodded. I knew he was right. Time was wasting, and I couldn’t sit in this Dumpster all day. . . . But splitting up? I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Okay, then! Hit the road, kid.”
I crawled up to the front of the Dumpster and took a quick peek over the top.
“Careful—don’t let those cops see you!”
I crept to the far side, threw a leg up, and pulled myself over. Dropped to the ground as quietly as I could. Then ran like hell.
I folded in two over the top of the bus bench, my lungs heaving, like I was about to give birth to a calf. The “three blocks” to the bus that Calvin promised was only technically true. Three city blocks are very different from three small-town blocks I’m used to. Felt like I’d just run a marathon. As it was, I’d arrived only in time to suck up the fumes from the last bus, which, gauging from my watch, was the two-thirty p.m. run. Now, I was stuck another half hour.
A bearded guy wearing an old camo jacket in a wheelchair gave me a long look. I retucked my shirt, dumped some coffee grounds from the cuff on my shorts, and stared back at him. He didn’t have any room to be looking down his nose at me. Neither of us was going to win a best-dressed contest any time soon.
