Read Online Miracle on 49th Street by Mike Lupica - Free Book Online

“Ow!”
    With the music still down, it was Molly who must have sounded like a car alarm now.
    The car swerved, throwing Molly into the opposite inside wall of the car.
    â€œWhat the—” Josh Cameron yelled. “Who’s back there?”
    Somehow he got the car under control, slowing it down.
    â€œWho’s back there?” he repeated.
    No reason to hide anymore. Molly poked her head above the seat in front of her and could see him trying to drive the car and look in his rearview mirror at the same time.
    Molly stared at the eyes looking at her from the mirror now.
    He didn’t look happy.
    She smiled anyway.
    â€œMe again,” she said.

    â€œStowaway brat causes Cameron to lose control of car on Storrow Drive,” he said to himself. He was angry this time. “The media would have had a field day with that one.”
    Molly stayed where she was in the way-back, afraid to get any closer to him.
    He was still talking to himself, looking at the road in front of him mostly, but occasionally using the mirror to look right at Molly with a mean face.
    â€œTwelve years in the league,” he said. “I go up against Shaq. Don’t get hurt. Ewing. Hakeem. Don’t get hurt. Now I almost get taken out by a pushy twelve-year-old girl .”
    â€œSorry,” Molly said, her voice sounding squeaky, the way it did when she got nervous, not knowing what else to say at the moment.
    â€œI don’t even want to know what you think you’re doing, kid,” he said. “I thought we said all we had to say yesterday. I ought to call the police and let them handle this, but I’m not going to. Just tell me where Barbara lives, and I’ll take you home.”
    Molly didn’t say anything.
    â€œHey,” he said. “I asked you a question.”
    It made Molly think of a question of her own.
    This jerk is my father?
    But she had come this far. She was going to say what she needed to say to him.
    â€œWe didn’t finish our conversation yesterday,” she said.
    He pulled the car over. Molly could see they were on Commonwealth Ave. now, the part between Kenmore Square and the Public Garden, a little park and biking path separating the eastbound and westbound traffic. Josh Cameron turned around and looked at her. For some reason she noticed his cap, which read “Dan Bailey, Livingston, Montana.”
    â€œNo, that’s where you’re wrong, we did finish our conversation,” he said. “Maybe you didn’t. But I did. It was a nice try on your part. And this is an even nicer try tonight. We need some of the guys off our bench to try as hard as you do.”
    Molly rubbed the place where she’d hit her head. She could feel the bump. Josh Cameron hadn’t even asked if she was all right.
    Molly said, “You don’t believe me because you don’t want to believe me.”
    He whipped off his cap then and threw it down on the backseat.
    â€œThis is getting annoying,” he said.
    Tell me about it, she thought.
    â€œHere’s what I believe,” he said. “I believe you’re Jen’s daughter. I do. I believe she came up with a story about me being your dad, to explain why she ran off to Europe and never came back. I don’t know, maybe she thought there’d be some money in it after she was gone.”
    â€œIt wasn’t like that,” Molly said.
    â€œBut what I don’t believe is some sneaky kid off the street showing up out of the blue and telling me I’m her father. And what I don’t like is that kid hiding out in my car and nearly causing a stinking accident on my way home from the game.”
    â€œI had to see you again,” Molly said.
    Standing her ground, even though she was sitting down.
    â€œFor the last time,” he said, “either tell me where you live, or I’m going to drive around the corner to the Ritz, where I happen to be living right now, hand you over to