Read Online The Great Good Summer by Liz Garton Scanlon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Garton Scanlon
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Florida at least as much as I do.
Chapter Nine
P aul and Iâd agreed to meet at the end of my street at ten till six in the morning with everything weâd need. So at five twenty my alarm shakes me awake. Last night I stowed it under my pillow so it wouldnât disturb Daddy, which you have to admit was a good idea, but it is startling, like my own head is a fire alarm, clanging.
I turn it off and roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling of my own little room in Loomer, Texas. I think about lying to Daddy and to Mrs. Murray, and about getting onto a bus with Paul Dobbs, of all the people on Godâs green earth. I think about going all the way to Florida and maybeâor maybe notâfinding Mama, and then I stop, because I simply cannot think about not finding Mama.
I tiptoe into the bathroom, pee without flushing, and brush my teeth without water. I canât make a single mistake, or the whole thing is off.
For the first time in my life, Iâm glad that I donât have a dog. A dog would hear me and bark, or come panting after me down the stairs and wake Daddy. So itâs goodIâm all alone, tiptoeing around this quiet house. When I get back from Florida, though, Iâm gonna go right back to wanting a dog. I just want to get that on the record.
Itâs five forty when I set the note I pre-wrote on the kitchen table and sneak out the door toward the garage. By seven, Iâll be on a bus to Houston, and Daddy will be drinking his coffee, surprised that I forgot to tell him about having to babysit extra early for the Murrays today.
Thatâs not like Ivy, heâll think. Thatâs not like Ivy at all.
And itâs true, itâs not. But hopping a Greyhound bus to Florida isnât either, and Iâm doing that, so I guess some days are just full of surprises.
Itâs still that creepy kind of dark outside, and the streetlight near the front of our house sizzles like a bug zapper as I ride beneath it. My blood beats hard, not only in my chest but in my head and hands too, and Iâm not sure if thatâs just because Iâm riding fast or because Iâm scared of getting caught or because Iâm afraid that if I donât get caught, Iâm really, truly, honest to goodness going to do this. Iâm going to run away.
Paul says weâre not running away. He says weâre going on an exploratory field trip, but somehow Iâm thinking that Daddy isnât going to see it that way. To be honest, Iâmnot 100 percent sure what Daddy is going to think about this whole thing. Heâs been not really all that Daddyish ever since Mama left, and I donât blame him for that, but I canât just sit here in Loomer and wait for him to come around.
I see the silhouette of Paul and his bike standing under another buzzing streetlight a few blocks down, at the corner of Magpie and Lowey. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, and one of his feet is still up on a bike pedal, as if he might take off at any moment. I roll quietly nearer and nearer to him until I can actually see his face, yellow in the light.
âWhy are you standing under the light for all the world to see?â My voice comes out louder than I expected, a sort of yelled whisper.
âWhy are you yelling for all the world to hear?â Paul yell-whispers back. I guess weâre both a little tense.
âSorry,â we say at once, and then, without another word, we turn our bikes out onto Lowey and head for the bus station. My pumping matches Paulâs pumping, my breathing matches Paulâs breathing, and the yellow-pink beginnings of the day shine at the end of the street like something sweetâa berry or a flower or a promise.
We lock our bikes around the corner from the station, near the Lazy Laundry, just like we planned. Because nobodyâd look for us there, thatâs the sure truth. Inside the station almost all the seats are empty, except for
Chapter Nine
P aul and Iâd agreed to meet at the end of my street at ten till six in the morning with everything weâd need. So at five twenty my alarm shakes me awake. Last night I stowed it under my pillow so it wouldnât disturb Daddy, which you have to admit was a good idea, but it is startling, like my own head is a fire alarm, clanging.
I turn it off and roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling of my own little room in Loomer, Texas. I think about lying to Daddy and to Mrs. Murray, and about getting onto a bus with Paul Dobbs, of all the people on Godâs green earth. I think about going all the way to Florida and maybeâor maybe notâfinding Mama, and then I stop, because I simply cannot think about not finding Mama.
I tiptoe into the bathroom, pee without flushing, and brush my teeth without water. I canât make a single mistake, or the whole thing is off.
For the first time in my life, Iâm glad that I donât have a dog. A dog would hear me and bark, or come panting after me down the stairs and wake Daddy. So itâs goodIâm all alone, tiptoeing around this quiet house. When I get back from Florida, though, Iâm gonna go right back to wanting a dog. I just want to get that on the record.
Itâs five forty when I set the note I pre-wrote on the kitchen table and sneak out the door toward the garage. By seven, Iâll be on a bus to Houston, and Daddy will be drinking his coffee, surprised that I forgot to tell him about having to babysit extra early for the Murrays today.
Thatâs not like Ivy, heâll think. Thatâs not like Ivy at all.
And itâs true, itâs not. But hopping a Greyhound bus to Florida isnât either, and Iâm doing that, so I guess some days are just full of surprises.
Itâs still that creepy kind of dark outside, and the streetlight near the front of our house sizzles like a bug zapper as I ride beneath it. My blood beats hard, not only in my chest but in my head and hands too, and Iâm not sure if thatâs just because Iâm riding fast or because Iâm scared of getting caught or because Iâm afraid that if I donât get caught, Iâm really, truly, honest to goodness going to do this. Iâm going to run away.
Paul says weâre not running away. He says weâre going on an exploratory field trip, but somehow Iâm thinking that Daddy isnât going to see it that way. To be honest, Iâmnot 100 percent sure what Daddy is going to think about this whole thing. Heâs been not really all that Daddyish ever since Mama left, and I donât blame him for that, but I canât just sit here in Loomer and wait for him to come around.
I see the silhouette of Paul and his bike standing under another buzzing streetlight a few blocks down, at the corner of Magpie and Lowey. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, and one of his feet is still up on a bike pedal, as if he might take off at any moment. I roll quietly nearer and nearer to him until I can actually see his face, yellow in the light.
âWhy are you standing under the light for all the world to see?â My voice comes out louder than I expected, a sort of yelled whisper.
âWhy are you yelling for all the world to hear?â Paul yell-whispers back. I guess weâre both a little tense.
âSorry,â we say at once, and then, without another word, we turn our bikes out onto Lowey and head for the bus station. My pumping matches Paulâs pumping, my breathing matches Paulâs breathing, and the yellow-pink beginnings of the day shine at the end of the street like something sweetâa berry or a flower or a promise.
We lock our bikes around the corner from the station, near the Lazy Laundry, just like we planned. Because nobodyâd look for us there, thatâs the sure truth. Inside the station almost all the seats are empty, except for
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