Read Online The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer - Free Book Online Page B

that? A cheap one. Horrible! And in this way she tortured herself for the rest of the day.
    After school he was waiting for her, leaning against a tree, one foot up, and he was chewing on a toothpick and looked adorable. He’s there, she thought. He’s there because of me. She wanted to shout or sing or wave her arms around. Then she saw that he looked frightened. Of her? But he was a boy .
    “Hey,” she said, coming up to him.
    “Hey.”
    “We’re going . . . to get coffee,” she said. “Right?”
    “I guess.”
    They walked down the street, came to the corner, crossed, walked down the next block. Neither said anything. Another block. Silence. And another. And more silence. Silence building like stones.
    “Over there,” Beauty said finally, pointing with relief to Clara’s Coffee Shoppe on a small strip mall. He nodded.
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    They crossed the street, and she could have walked into a speeding car without ever having seen it coming. She had no idea how she had crossed safely. And she had no idea who this boy was, why they were together, what she could ever find to say to him. Her teeth chattered.
    “Cold?” he said.
    “A little.”
    “H-h-h-here!” He pulled off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders.
    “Oh,” she breathed. “Thank you.” The jacket held the warmth of his body, and she hoped never to give it back.
    They entered the coffee shop, sat at the counter. “My treat.” She tried to sound sure of herself. She pulled his jacket around her.
    He ordered a large coffee, regular. She ordered a small coffee, vanilla flavored.
    “F-f-f-flavored?” he said. “You like that? I say, never flavor coffee.”
    “Really?” They were talking now. She sat up straighter, sparkled her eyes at him, got bold and said teasingly,
    “Never flavor coffee! Okay. Why not?”
    “Ruins the taste.” He said it solemnly, so she answered in the same vein—serious, grave. “I’ll never do it again.”
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    “Good,” he said. He smiled a little to himself, as if he was glad he had changed her mind. Then he looked at her and touched his jacket, and said, “Warm now?”
    “Oh, yes!” she said, and got warmer, she was sure her cheeks were flushed. She put her hands to them. Yes, warm. “Do you want your jacket back?”
    “Eventually, yes. Keep it on for now.”
    “Thank you!”
    They smiled at each other and drank their coffee. He finished first and twirled on the stool. “Well, thanks,” he said. And then he said her name. “Thanks, Beauty.”
    “Ethan, you’re welcome.” She paid, and they walked out together.
    At the corner he said, “I go this way. See you around, I guess.” He reddened. “I mean, I’ll see you in h-h-history class t-t-t-tomorrow.”
    “Yes,” she said, “see you there, for sure.” She took off his jacket and handed it to him, watched as he put it on, warm from her now. And she hoped he would do something affectionate. Was holding her hand, even for a moment, too much to wish for? She would settle for a touch on her neck or her arm, any little gesture.
    But they parted, and he walked away without looking 100

    back. “’Bye,” she called. Her voice lifted. “’Bye, Ethan.”
    He kept walking.
    She made herself turn and not look back. The ordeal, for surely it had been that, was over, and her legs were boneless with relief, but as she walked home, almost wobbly at first, she began singing a song she’d learned from her father a long time ago, when she was about Autumn’s age. She’d heard him singing it for Autumn last summer, before he fell and stopped singing and speaking.
    “‘Four strong winds that blow lonely, seven seas that run high, all these things that won’t change—’” She couldn’t remember what came next. She hummed, found a few of the words: “‘now, our good times are all gone—’” or was it
    “‘our good times are just begun’”? She liked that better, sang it again, bravely, wanting to believe it. “‘Our good times are just