Read Online The Elephant of Surprise (The Russel Middlebrook Series Book 4) by Brent Hartinger - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brent Hartinger
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moments in movies where the loser main character is glancing around to make sure he's really the person being spoken to. I stopped thinking about Kevin, that's for sure.
"Really," he said. He climbed out of the Dumpster (the muscles in his arms bulged). "I got a good vibe from you the other day. You seem like a decent person."
I blushed. I mean, he was flirting with me, right?
I nodded to his backpack, which didn't look particularly full. "So how was the haul?"
"Not so good. I should've known. Wednesdays always suck. Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays are the best days, at least at schools and hospitals." When I stared at him for an explanation, he added, "Cafeteria food deliveries are usually Mondays and Thursdays, so that's when kitchens need to make room in their cupboards and refrigerators. And Fridays are the days they throw out all the stuff they think will spoil over the weekend."
"Ah," I said. "So why come today?"
He fiddled with the straps on his backpack. "Well, like I said, I was hoping I'd run into you."
Wade had been looking for me exactly the same way I'd been looking for him? This did nothing to stop my blushing. There was no possible way I was misinterpreting all this, was there? Validate my reality here.
"So nothing for the homeless camp?" I said.
"Not today. But they'll get by." Especially if Kevin was running fast food over their way, I thought. Who knows? Maybe the whole city was secretly feeding that homeless camp, like the stray cat who goes from house to house and ends up the best fed animal in the whole neighborhood. But I didn't mention that to Wade, because I suspected he wouldn't appreciate the analogy.
"Can I ask you a question?" I said.
"Sure," he said.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
I nodded. That looked about right.
"So…" I said.
He laughed. "How did I end up like this? A freegan?"
"Well, kinda."
He thought for a second. "That's not something I can tell you. It's something I can only show you."
I rolled my eyes. "I totally should've seen that coming, shouldn't I?"
He beamed. "Yup! So? You got some time?"
"You mean like right now? Without Min and Gunnar?"
"They can come too. If you really want."
If you really want. That's what he'd said. But what he'd meant was that he wanted to spend time with me. Alone. He was totally hitting on me! Right? I mean, this wasn't all in my mind. Please validate my reality here!
"Sure," I said. "I guess. But, I mean, I still have my bike."
"I came on a bike too. I borrowed it from the freegan house. Which is good because where we're going to is too far to walk."
* * *
Wade's freegan bike was surprisingly pathetic—a bent and squeaky thing with brake levers that were attached to the handlebars with actual twist-ties. It was a nice reminder that as romantic as freeganism seemed in theory, the reality of it was pretty different.
Wade led me to a nearby residential neighborhood. The houses were all small and old—mostly one-story with chain-link fences and lawns where the dandelions were the only things still alive. I could smell the exhaust and burnt rubber from the freeway a couple of streets over.
Wade stopped his bike in front of one particular house. It looked pretty much like all the others, except it had a weathered white picket fence, not a chain-link one. And off to one side was a mangled trike that looked like it had been run over by a car.
"This is where I grew up," he said, simply enough.
I glanced back the way we'd come. "Wait. Did you go to Goodkind?" This was my high school, only a couple of miles away.
He nodded. Somewhere in the distance, some asshole wouldn't stop revving his motorbike.
I thought back. "You were a senior when I was a freshman!"
"Yup."
Why hadn't I recognized him before? Because I hadn't expected to find a graduate from our school rummaging around in the Dumpster? But it was also that he looked so different: he'd been bookish and quiet and lanky then, and didn't have a shaved head.
"Really," he said. He climbed out of the Dumpster (the muscles in his arms bulged). "I got a good vibe from you the other day. You seem like a decent person."
I blushed. I mean, he was flirting with me, right?
I nodded to his backpack, which didn't look particularly full. "So how was the haul?"
"Not so good. I should've known. Wednesdays always suck. Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays are the best days, at least at schools and hospitals." When I stared at him for an explanation, he added, "Cafeteria food deliveries are usually Mondays and Thursdays, so that's when kitchens need to make room in their cupboards and refrigerators. And Fridays are the days they throw out all the stuff they think will spoil over the weekend."
"Ah," I said. "So why come today?"
He fiddled with the straps on his backpack. "Well, like I said, I was hoping I'd run into you."
Wade had been looking for me exactly the same way I'd been looking for him? This did nothing to stop my blushing. There was no possible way I was misinterpreting all this, was there? Validate my reality here.
"So nothing for the homeless camp?" I said.
"Not today. But they'll get by." Especially if Kevin was running fast food over their way, I thought. Who knows? Maybe the whole city was secretly feeding that homeless camp, like the stray cat who goes from house to house and ends up the best fed animal in the whole neighborhood. But I didn't mention that to Wade, because I suspected he wouldn't appreciate the analogy.
"Can I ask you a question?" I said.
"Sure," he said.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
I nodded. That looked about right.
"So…" I said.
He laughed. "How did I end up like this? A freegan?"
"Well, kinda."
He thought for a second. "That's not something I can tell you. It's something I can only show you."
I rolled my eyes. "I totally should've seen that coming, shouldn't I?"
He beamed. "Yup! So? You got some time?"
"You mean like right now? Without Min and Gunnar?"
"They can come too. If you really want."
If you really want. That's what he'd said. But what he'd meant was that he wanted to spend time with me. Alone. He was totally hitting on me! Right? I mean, this wasn't all in my mind. Please validate my reality here!
"Sure," I said. "I guess. But, I mean, I still have my bike."
"I came on a bike too. I borrowed it from the freegan house. Which is good because where we're going to is too far to walk."
* * *
Wade's freegan bike was surprisingly pathetic—a bent and squeaky thing with brake levers that were attached to the handlebars with actual twist-ties. It was a nice reminder that as romantic as freeganism seemed in theory, the reality of it was pretty different.
Wade led me to a nearby residential neighborhood. The houses were all small and old—mostly one-story with chain-link fences and lawns where the dandelions were the only things still alive. I could smell the exhaust and burnt rubber from the freeway a couple of streets over.
Wade stopped his bike in front of one particular house. It looked pretty much like all the others, except it had a weathered white picket fence, not a chain-link one. And off to one side was a mangled trike that looked like it had been run over by a car.
"This is where I grew up," he said, simply enough.
I glanced back the way we'd come. "Wait. Did you go to Goodkind?" This was my high school, only a couple of miles away.
He nodded. Somewhere in the distance, some asshole wouldn't stop revving his motorbike.
I thought back. "You were a senior when I was a freshman!"
"Yup."
Why hadn't I recognized him before? Because I hadn't expected to find a graduate from our school rummaging around in the Dumpster? But it was also that he looked so different: he'd been bookish and quiet and lanky then, and didn't have a shaved head.
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