by Jen White
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“He is,” she insisted.
“Wait,” Star Wars Kid interrupted. “Like, just now? He left you at that gas station?” He pointed toward the parking lot.
It was probably better that he thought that. It sounded so much worse explaining that it was yesterday at a different gas station, hours away. I crawled toward the makeshift exit.
“It’s fine. I’m handling it. Just forget it. Thanks for letting us use your phone.” I turned to Billie. “Come on.”
She inched toward me. “Yeah, and thanks for the cookies. They’re my favorite.”
“Stop,” said Star Wars Kid. “You can’t just leave. You need help.”
I peered out of our hiding place. The gas station looked the same and the semitruck was there, I guess still broken. Now I wished Billie hadn’t said anything. “We’re fine. I told you, I called our mom’s friend. She’s picking us up; she’s probably there already waiting for us.” I swallowed. Faking it sometimes made my throat hurt.
Star Wars Kid calmed down. “Okay, only if you’re sure she’s there. But if not, I mean, you can stay with me.”
Jax’s face floated in my brain. “No, she’s on her way.”
“All right,” he said, picking at the dried snot on his T-shirt. “Let me at least check to make sure that weird guy is gone.” He poked his head out of the bushes for a second and then came back in. He smiled with his eyes and did an awkward little bow. “All clear.”
It was nice to see that after everything, Star Wars Kid was acting more like himself.
Billie crawled out first, and I started after her when Star Wars Kid put his hand on my shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said.
I shrugged. “You would have done it for me.”
“Yeah.” He put his hand over his heart, crossed his eyes, and flared his nostrils. “May the Force be with you.”
“Okay. It will be. Thanks, Star Wa—I mean, Roger.” I smiled. It felt good to use his name. He deserved it after everything we had been through. Then I followed Billie out onto the sidewalk.
Roger stayed inside the bushes, but he pushed his fist out of the leaves and pumped it up and down. “Win and conquer!” he yelled.
I laughed. And I pumped mine back at him. I wondered how long it would be before he could go home. Would Jax be there, ready to beat him up again?
“Come on,” I said to Billie. “We’re going to wait at the gas station.” We were getting really good at waiting.
Billie’s shoulders slumped, but she followed me anyway.
We walked toward the gas station. The right side was hidden by some trees, but I could see the back wheels of the semi. We were about ready to pass the trees when we heard someone yell, “Hey!”
Billie and me turned.
It was Jax.
He stood on the sidewalk, right in front of Roger’s hiding place. Then Jax barreled toward us.
Roger popped up out of the bushes. His head looked like it was floating in a sea of green leaves. “Run!” he yelled.
Jax spun around.
Then Roger jumped out of the bushes and tackled his brother.
Billie and me skittered past the trees and turned the corner. The cab of the semitruck sat with the door wide open, and Tattoo Guy was nowhere in sight.
“Come on,” I said, pushing Billie up the steps of the truck. We only had seconds before Jax got away from Roger.
Billie stumbled into the truck with me following close behind.
“Get in the back,” I said, pushing her behind the two front seats. We hunched down next to a little pullout table and bench. Except for us, the cab of the semi was empty.
We sat for a minute, and then I crept forward, trying to see out the window. Jax stalked around the parking lot in circles. What had happened to Roger? I shuddered. He had given away his special hiding place just to help us. My heart thumped. It felt good to have a friend, even if it was just for a minute.
Jax looked behind the air pumps, and then he walked toward the truck. He looked underneath and started to walk to the open door when Tattoo Guy rounded the side of the gas station.
“Hey!” he yelled at Jax. “Get away from there!”
Jax jumped. “Bite me,” he said, then ran toward the apartment building, disappearing around the side.
Tattoo Guy cursed.
He could not catch us hiding here.
Tattoo Guy slammed the cab door shut.
No, no. Don’t close the door. I jumped back to where Billie was crouched. We would sit and wait. As soon as he started working on the engine again, we’d sneak out.
“There’s a cat back here,” Billie said. “A black-and-white one.”
“Be quiet,” I whispered. “We don’t want the driver to catch us.”
Billie nodded.
Just then the cat skittered to the front of the cab, claiming the passenger seat. It glared at me with its bright yellow eyes, its animal instincts on high alert. It was wondering if we were a threat. After a few seconds, the cat curled up into a ball on the seat, its yellow eyes still on me, but it looked more relaxed.
“I love cats,” whispered Billie.
“Shh,” I said.
The cab kind of jiggled, and then we heard all sorts of slamming and clanging from the engine.
This was our chance. I crept closer to the door, and looked out the window to make sure it was safe.
“What is it doing in here?” asked Billie as she reached two fingers out to the cat. “Come here, pretty kitty. Come here.”
“Stop it,” I whispered.
We inched closer to the front so I could see out the window.
The cat pretended not to watch us, but it was.
“It’s like a camper back here,” Billie whispered. “It has a little table and benches and a TV and a sink and a little fridge—”
It reminded me of the first time we got into Dad’s camper.
“—and I think there’s a bed up there.” She pointed toward a ladder that headed over the table. “That’s cool.”
My heart continued to thud. “Come on, we’ve got to get out.” I put my hand on the door handle, but before I opened it, I checked outside one more time. It sounded like Tattoo Guy was still working on the engine. What if he found us? He could be like Jax or worse.
Just as I reached for the door, I heard footsteps.
“Hurry, he’s coming,” I said, pushing Billie back toward the table, but even here I felt too exposed. This was not a great hiding spot.
The cat stood up on the passenger seat and meowed.
“Come on,” I whispered, pointing to the ladder. I pushed Billie ahead of me. We climbed up the ladder over the table and landed on the bed that was tucked high over the eating area.
The door opened and Tattoo Guy climbed into the front seat, his hands on the steering wheel, all black with grease. He turned the key. The radio came on to some loud, screamy music. The truck rumbled and started to die out like before, but he slammed his foot on something on the floor and the engine came back to life.
“Yes!” he said, hitting the dashboard. The engine continued to roar. Tattoo Guy left the truck rumbling and climbed back down.
No. No. No. We couldn’t stay here. Not with the scary-looking Tattoo Guy. For a minute I missed the Lavender Lady and Orson. I inched toward the ladder and swung my leg over, but before I could get down, he climbed back in and closed the door.
We were trapped.
I crawled back up the ladder and scooted Billie and me as far as I could onto the same side of the semi as Tattoo Guy so he couldn’t see us if he turned around. I had to formulate a new plan quickly.
Billie grabbed my hand. “What do we do?” she whispered.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
I might burst into a thousand tiny pieces. My heart felt like it was full of moths, their little wings beating against my aorta. I held my hand over my chest. I had to have a plan.
“It’s fine,” I whispered
to Billie. I closed my eyes, begging my brain for some kind of brilliant inspiration. Instinct? Genius? I needed whatever it was that could help keep us safe.
Billie squeezed my hand.
1. We could sneak out wherever he stopped next. At another gas station?
2. Try to call Julie again, but I had no idea if she would ever answer the phone.
3. I would have to call Antonio’s mom now. Even if it proved that Dad was everything she’d said.
4. Maybe buy a bus ticket or something.
It was the best I could come up with under these conditions. I reached into my pocket for the bag with our money, just to count it one more time, but it was gone.
Tattoo Guy pulled the truck forward with the music even louder. He must have turned it up.
“Billie, did you see our bag?” I whispered, trying to hide the panic in my voice.
She shook her head.
I felt all over the bed for it, lifting up the dirty-looking pillows. Nothing. I looked out the little baby window on the side of the bed. Maybe it had fallen out of my pocket and landed in the parking lot, but there was nothing.
Did it fall out at Roger’s apartment? Or I could have dropped it when we were crawling through the bushes.
The semitruck jerked, hitting something on the road. Tattoo Guy cursed.
“When did you last see our bag?” I whispered to Billie, trying to act like I had everything under control.
“What?” she asked. The music was so loud.
“Do you have our plastic bag? The one with the money?”
She shook her head. Cat hair stuck to her lips. “It was under our table when we were eating breakfast.”
And then I remembered I had put it under our table at the hotel. Everything, all that money, sat at our table in the breakfast room. I never even took it to Roger’s house.
Something inside me deflated. How could we get anywhere without that money? And if Julie never answered her phone, then how would we get back to our condo? San Diego was a universe away. How could I ever save us now?
Survival Strategy #31:
BEWARE OF SHARKS
“What’s the matter?” asked Billie.
“Nothing.”
My stomach felt like it was full of rocks pressing me down onto the mattress so I might never get up again. We had to have that money.
The cat meowed even louder. It had been sitting at the bottom of the ladder meowing for at least ten minutes. I knew it was trying to tell Tattoo Guy we were here.
“Shut up!” yelled Tattoo Guy.
I pulled Billie closer to me and held my finger to her lips.
She nodded, her stringy hair stuck in her eyelashes. Good Billie. Sweet Billie. When it came down to it, she always did what I said. Or mostly. We were a team. I grabbed her hand, threading her fingers through mine. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “We’re going to be okay. Don’t worry.”
Billie laid her head on my shoulder and snuggled into me.
The engine roared and the bed shook beneath us. We pulled forward, bumping over potholes in the road.
The cat continued to meow.
“What’s wrong?” yelled the Tattoo Guy, his voice carrying back to us over the music and the meowing.
Billie buried her face in my arm and stifled a sneeze.
Shh.
“I couldn’t help it,” she whispered.
Of course she couldn’t. None of us could help anything.
The cat kept meowing.
Don’t you tell him, cat. You keep your meowing to yourself.
Billie and me had a lot of traveling left to do. Migration usually takes a very long time; just ask a flock of geese. It could take months. Whales migrate, too. Sometimes they can be delayed by fishing boats, or changes in water temperature, or a school of sharks.
Sharks aren’t always scary like what you see in movies. Back before I was born, Mom swam with sharks. She told me once when I was in fourth grade and was doing a report in science on the nurse shark. It was one of those unusual days when we had her all to ourselves. She took us to my favorite place, the aquarium. I had my face pressed against the glass of the shark tank, which made long, streaky steam marks from my nostrils, but Mom hadn’t told me to stop.
We had been staring at the sharks for a while.
“They look kind of scary, huh?” I asked Mom.
She smiled a smile that I didn’t recognize. “Oh, some sharks aren’t so bad.”
“Yeah, until you’re face-to-face with one in the ocean,” I said.
“I have been face-to-face with one.”
“What?” I asked. “When?”
“A long time ago, when I went with your dad to Australia. It was his idea. He said he needed to practice with his underwater camera. So we went, and of course I was being stupid and trying to impress him, so I acted like it was no big deal.”
“Weren’t you scared?” The sharks darted past, first in one direction and then another, like they couldn’t make up their minds.
She turned to me and laughed. “Of course. Wouldn’t you be scared?”
I nodded. I mean, those sharks looked pretty decent now, but I’d seen on Planet Earth what sharks did when they were hungry.
“At first it was awful. But after I got used to it, it was awesome. Sand sharks couldn’t care less about people,” Mom said.
Then she stopped, like she remembered she never talked about my dad. The happy look in her eyes vanished; replaced by the blank one I usually saw if his name was ever mentioned.
“Are we ever going to see Dad again?” I asked.
The sharks in the aquarium seemed to be swimming faster. “Probably not,” she said.
“Why?”
“Trust me, Liberty. It’s better this way. It’s better for everyone. He isn’t the same person anymore. He changed.”
“How?” I asked.
She tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “He just did. He has a lot of problems.”
“Like what?”
She stared at the sharks as she spoke. “It’s hard to explain. The world is too difficult to manage for your father. He is not comfortable in normal life. He’s not the same person I met years ago.”
I didn’t get it. How could someone change so much?
“Like being camouflaged?” I asked. I knew there was a dragonfly that looked like a stick.
She looked unsure. “Sort of.” But then she turned her attention back to the sharks. “Besides the nurse shark, which is your favorite?”
Conversation about Dad over.
And since Mom had died, nothing good ever happened anymore. Except for Billie. She was the one good thing. And Mom was right. Dad was like a shark: interesting to look at from far away, but don’t get too close or you’ll be sorry.
Survival Strategy #32:
DREAMS ARE DANGEROUS, TOO
I slid through the water like a dolphin. In the ocean deep, I had goggle eyes. Everything seemed so much clearer than it ever had on land. Here, everything made sense. The fish, the seaweed, the coral, electric and bright, were a part of me. I held the creamy egg carefully, trying not to rip its shell, and dipped down into the black water, touching the sandy bottom just to say I could.
I had a mission. The sea turtle, the one I saw on the beach—I had to find her. I had her fragile egg, the one she left in the sand. She would want it back. Once she realized what I had, she would want it.
She had to want it.
But the turtle swam away and disappeared into a kelp bed; bubbles chased behind her and then popped into nothing. I was alone, except for the egg. I was responsible. How would I ever take care of a baby sea turtle? I wasn’t its mother. How could I possibly know what to do?
Survival Strategy #33:
ACCIDENTS HAPPEN
“Driver, ten-four, I see you on my left. I’ll back off the hammer. Appreciate the information. Over.”
Static forced its way through my brain, pounding and buzzing. My head was killing me.
“Are you
awake now?” whispered Billie.
I couldn’t have fallen asleep. I was in charge.
“Liberty,” Billie whispered.
I rolled over, annoyed at being disturbed. I had been doing something important, but I couldn’t remember what now.
“What?”
Billie looked scared. “You were talking in your sleep. You’re being too loud.”
I sat up and pushed the pillow away from under my head. It smelled like something rotten. Then I remembered everything: waiting at the gas station, Shiny Head, the Lavender Lady, the Spoon Guy, and Roger and his awful brother, Jax. And for some reason, thinking of Roger made me even sadder than I was. And then, of course, there was the lost money. My stomach twisted.
The semi walls swayed around us as we thundered down the road. The garbled radio and the rumble of the engine hurt my ears. I lay flat on the mattress, staring at the plastic ceiling covered with a pattern of little white dots. Worry nibbled on my toes until it found a hole and climbed right into my body. It dove into my bloodstream and traveled through my veins and into my brain, filling my mind with all sorts of horrible thoughts.
1. We can’t do it.
2. We’ll never get to our condo.
3. Our dad left us.
4. Our mom did, too.
5. Julie doesn’t want us.
6. Nobody wants us.
I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and chucked it across the bed. Tears leaked down the side of my face.
“Are you crying?” whispered Billie, her face only inches from me, her eyes reflecting worry like a mirror. She didn’t need to whisper; I could hardly hear anything but the hum of the road, the radio, and the engine bulldozing us ahead.
I flipped over onto my stomach and wiped the tears with the back of my hand. “No. I think it’s the cat. It’s getting to me. I must have allergies like Mom.”
Billie nodded slowly, examining me with her eyes, like she was searching for proof of allergies. The corners of her mouth turned up a little as she pulled back a small curtain over a window along the right side of the wall.
“Look. A window.”
But I turned away. I didn’t want to look out a window at a road with a name I didn’t know, in a place I had never been, that led somewhere with no familiar face to greet us. I hugged my knees into my chest to stop my stomach from clenching up into a tight ball.
