Read Online Small as an Elephant by Jennifer Richard Jacobson - Free Book Online

will it be,
he wondered,
before the guidance counselor starts looking for me?
Would he just be wasting valuable time by hoping his mother showed up?
    “On her way to tropical beaches,” the bartender had said.
    Round and round went his thoughts, each one feeling momentarily promising . . . and then hopeless. Night sounds — crickets, a truck horn in the distance — grew louder around him. Everything had an opinion.
    Jack knew the dog was still down below; he could hear its tags jangling as it scratched itself.
Too bad dogs can’t climb ladders,
he thought. He would have liked that old dog stretched out beside him. For a moment, he contemplated getting down from the loft and sleeping with the dog. But the cushions were comfortable, and he still felt so very tired. That’s what worry did to Jack, made him incredibly tired — tired the way his mom always was after the spinning times. She’d come home and crawl into bed, close the shades, and pull up the covers, and that’s where Jack would find her for days — sometimes even weeks — after a spinning time. Tired like that. He closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.
    When he woke again, sunlight was sliding through all the cracks in the walls, giving the barn a sort of comfortable, cozy feeling — until, that is, he remembered that today was the day his vacation was officially over. Then nothing felt comfortable. The cushions were lumpy. His mouth was dry. It felt like mice had made a nest in it while he slept. And he was hungry — boy, was he hungry! He hadn’t eaten anything but a bag of trail mix and two tastes of ice cream yesterday.
    I’m on a farm,
he thought as he left his stuff — all but his empty water bottle, that is — and climbed down the ladder.
There has to be a garden, right?
After all, the barn was full of gardening tools. And if there was a garden, surely there would be a hose for watering the garden. He didn’t know which would taste better right now: a big, crunchy carrot or a mouthful of cool, running water. He’d find something to eat, and then he’d figure out a plan.
    Not knowing if the farm family had returned, he pushed the barn door open a crack. He and the dog slipped through; then he moved around to the side of the barn where he couldn’t be seen from the house. There it was, the garden. He could see a scarecrow in a back field not far from where he stood. Only problem was, he’d have no place to hide while picking; anyone looking out the back window would see him.
    He went around front to see if a car had come in during the night. Mist was rising, hovering just above the fields with hay bales, across the road, and not a car in sight. Not on the dirt road that had led him here, not in the driveway, either. Maybe the owners had gone away for the long weekend. Even country people needed a vacation, right?
    Jack guessed it would be safe to help himself to a vegetable or two.
Heck,
he thought as he walked around back through the dew-soaked grass to the garden,
the vegetables are just going to go to waste if these people aren’t here to pick them.
    A net, held up by tall poles, surrounded the garden (to keep away deer?), but Jack spotted a place where the netting could be untied and the garden entered. He was barely through when he spotted a ripe tomato calling his name. The skin was warm from the morning sun, and he held it to his nose for just a moment before biting into it like it was a big old apple or a juicy plum. Seeds squirted out, dripping down his chin.
    He reached for another.
    “So. You think you can just help yourself to my tomatoes?”
    Jack jumped, using his forearm to wipe the evidence off his chin. He hadn’t heard the woman approach. But there she was, not more than a few feet from him, standing crossly in her black rubber boots and straw hat. Glancing around, he noticed sheets on a line on the side of the house opposite the barn. There was a basket on the ground beneath them. She must have been hanging the