Read Online Between Now & Never by Laura Johnston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Johnston
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them, taken two at a time—with the excitement of a reckless seven-year-old high on sugar and focused on a mission. No time to waste.
“Jimmy,” I panted after barging through his door.
Jimmy whirled around, a scrawny six-year-old with curly hair and more energy than a live wire.
Jimmy.
Paper, glue, scissors, and gold glitter covered the floor at the base of his bed. His hands were flying in a frenzy of creative invention. Even then, at only six years old, Jimmy was the artist in the family.
“One minute,” he shouted, scrambling to scrape up what glitter he could from the carpet and apply it to his project.
“Jimmy, now!” I grabbed him by the arm. “The rain will be gone soon. It’s our only chance to get the bad guys.”
Jimmy resisted my pull as he pressed the last bit of glitter onto his paper cutouts. “Done! Here, put this on.”
He held up two glittery gold badges. FBI. US Department of Justice. Jimmy had outdone himself this time. They looked like Dad’s badge. Plus glitter.
“Come on, Jimmy. Glitter?”
“It’s all Mom had!”
“Oh, well,” I said, ripping off a strip of clear duct tape and strapping the badge to my belt loop. This was why I kept Jimmy around. He made me look official, and besides, a good special agent never leaves his right-hand man behind. “Let’s go.”
We scrambled down the stairs with Nerf guns and dashed out the front door, flying past the crickets and lizards scurrying toward the porch for refuge.
“Fan out,” Jimmy called above the pelting rain. “Trust your instincts.”
One of Dad’s lines and one of Jimmy’s favorites— trust your instincts . Bad guys were always easier to catch during a storm. I don’t know why. Our instincts told us so, I guess. At least it was more exciting that way. And anytime a monsoon or other storm hit, Special Agents Cody and Jimmy Rush would rise to the call of duty, strap on our badges and guns with pride, and run out into the rain to answer the demands of justice.
A dream— that’s all this is. Yet I feel as though I could open my eyes and Jimmy would be there, sitting on his bedroom floor as though he’d never left .
CHAPTER 6
Cody
T he fissure of light between my eyelids is too bright. My head throbs. Sounds flutter in: some beeping, distant voices, a cupboard closing. Shoes squeak on tile. I let each noise drift around and settle in, a small corner of my mind trying to catch up.
Where’s Jimmy?
Gone.
The force of it nails me down, not that I was going anywhere fast. But it hurts. Kills all over again. My brain wants to stop, to block out the light and dive under, back to that darkness where there is no pain.
So much pain.
He’s gone.
Nothing new. Jimmy’s been gone for a long time. But I feel it all in full again.
Muscles ache, my arms reduced to dead weights at my sides. A burning sensation runs from my shoulder down into my elbow. Skin on fire. I try to swallow but can’t. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Every nerve along the side of my face throbs. Pulses. And my leg.
“He’s waking up again!”
I recognize the voice: my mom.
I start to say her name, but my lips are pasty, stuck together.
“He’s trying to say something,” Mom says.
“Probably the same three questions again. Round five,” another voice says: Rachel.
My lips part. “Wh-wh—”
“What happened?” Rachel fills in, exactly what I was about to ask.
Mom shushes her. “Rachel, be nice.”
“Let him talk,” a deep voice resonates. Dad.
I try to see him, want to tell him something. Blinding shafts of light flood in as I open my eyelids, and something scrapes my eyes. Almost like I have sand wedged in there.
“Dad,” I say. He leans over and offers a reassuring smile. I take in his blond hair and blue eyes and my own smile spreads. Safe. The feeling surrounds me and I hold on to it. Shaken up. Scared even.
“I—” The rest of whatever I was about to say flies away. Here and then gone. Or did I even
“Jimmy,” I panted after barging through his door.
Jimmy whirled around, a scrawny six-year-old with curly hair and more energy than a live wire.
Jimmy.
Paper, glue, scissors, and gold glitter covered the floor at the base of his bed. His hands were flying in a frenzy of creative invention. Even then, at only six years old, Jimmy was the artist in the family.
“One minute,” he shouted, scrambling to scrape up what glitter he could from the carpet and apply it to his project.
“Jimmy, now!” I grabbed him by the arm. “The rain will be gone soon. It’s our only chance to get the bad guys.”
Jimmy resisted my pull as he pressed the last bit of glitter onto his paper cutouts. “Done! Here, put this on.”
He held up two glittery gold badges. FBI. US Department of Justice. Jimmy had outdone himself this time. They looked like Dad’s badge. Plus glitter.
“Come on, Jimmy. Glitter?”
“It’s all Mom had!”
“Oh, well,” I said, ripping off a strip of clear duct tape and strapping the badge to my belt loop. This was why I kept Jimmy around. He made me look official, and besides, a good special agent never leaves his right-hand man behind. “Let’s go.”
We scrambled down the stairs with Nerf guns and dashed out the front door, flying past the crickets and lizards scurrying toward the porch for refuge.
“Fan out,” Jimmy called above the pelting rain. “Trust your instincts.”
One of Dad’s lines and one of Jimmy’s favorites— trust your instincts . Bad guys were always easier to catch during a storm. I don’t know why. Our instincts told us so, I guess. At least it was more exciting that way. And anytime a monsoon or other storm hit, Special Agents Cody and Jimmy Rush would rise to the call of duty, strap on our badges and guns with pride, and run out into the rain to answer the demands of justice.
A dream— that’s all this is. Yet I feel as though I could open my eyes and Jimmy would be there, sitting on his bedroom floor as though he’d never left .
CHAPTER 6
Cody
T he fissure of light between my eyelids is too bright. My head throbs. Sounds flutter in: some beeping, distant voices, a cupboard closing. Shoes squeak on tile. I let each noise drift around and settle in, a small corner of my mind trying to catch up.
Where’s Jimmy?
Gone.
The force of it nails me down, not that I was going anywhere fast. But it hurts. Kills all over again. My brain wants to stop, to block out the light and dive under, back to that darkness where there is no pain.
So much pain.
He’s gone.
Nothing new. Jimmy’s been gone for a long time. But I feel it all in full again.
Muscles ache, my arms reduced to dead weights at my sides. A burning sensation runs from my shoulder down into my elbow. Skin on fire. I try to swallow but can’t. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Every nerve along the side of my face throbs. Pulses. And my leg.
“He’s waking up again!”
I recognize the voice: my mom.
I start to say her name, but my lips are pasty, stuck together.
“He’s trying to say something,” Mom says.
“Probably the same three questions again. Round five,” another voice says: Rachel.
My lips part. “Wh-wh—”
“What happened?” Rachel fills in, exactly what I was about to ask.
Mom shushes her. “Rachel, be nice.”
“Let him talk,” a deep voice resonates. Dad.
I try to see him, want to tell him something. Blinding shafts of light flood in as I open my eyelids, and something scrapes my eyes. Almost like I have sand wedged in there.
“Dad,” I say. He leans over and offers a reassuring smile. I take in his blond hair and blue eyes and my own smile spreads. Safe. The feeling surrounds me and I hold on to it. Shaken up. Scared even.
“I—” The rest of whatever I was about to say flies away. Here and then gone. Or did I even
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