Read Online Wanted! by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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desperate for a hug and some comfort she’d surrender if a policeman appeared right now.
She reminded herself that the police, like her mother, would be a poor source of comfort.
“Come on, Paul, move it,” said the last guy, and he, too, smiled at Alice, rather sweetly, as if they had shared something once, and the boys moved it, going down the hall in a group kind of way, bumping and talking in the code of good friends.
She had misjudged them, because of their racket and their pushing. And who, right now, was misjudging Alice?
“Thank you,” Alice called after them, but she didn’t think Paul had heard her.
Paul.
She was in high school with a computer wizard named Paul. No nerd, that Paul was gorgeous and athletic and a senior and everybody had crushes on him. He had been accepted at awesome institutes of technology—Massachusetts; California—and was trying to decide which one to honor with his presence.
She tried to imagine calling upon that Paul for computer assistance. Or any other kind of assistance. It was beyond possibility. He would not have spent a millisecond noticing Alice, the sophomore.
Of course, he was probably thinking of her now. The whole high school was probably thinking of her now. Alice? they were saying to each other. Sweet dull Alice?
Not the kind of girl you expect to be a killer , they were probably saying to the television reporters.
It seemed impossible to Alice that she could be a figure on the evening news: the kind they loved to linger on, a shocker. A bloody, cruel, awful shocker…and it was Alice.
Oh , like wow , her classmates were saying to each other, my locker is next to hers. Wonder if she’s had a submachine gun in there all this time.
She tried to imagine herself going back to that high school, or any high school, under such a cloud.
Cloud?
Suspicion of killing your own father was not a cloud.
It was a forty-foot brick wall with rolls of slice wire on top.
It was prison.
The boys disappeared down the corridor and Alice followed. She hoped they were headed for an open lab, rows of cubicles each with keyboard and screen. When the boys clattered up to the second floor, so did Alice.
She had chills. The place was overly air-conditioned. At the top of the stairs was a lounge, walls lined with vending machines, drinking fountains, padded black vinyl benches…and phones.
Was Mommy by the phone? Was she holding the phone book with its quilted cover? Playing with the china cat which held pencils? Sitting on the slipper chair with its pattern of white geese, and its pillow of stuffed sheep? Was Mommy praying Alice would call again?
What about Grandma and Grandpa, in Florida in their retirement home? Did they know yet?
Her grandparents adored Alice. Alice adored them.
Alice could possibly get to Florida on her credit card.
But—hide out in Grandma’s spare bedroom? Abandon her life? Leave her friends and classes? Her wardrobe and her cat?
She wanted desperately to hear her mother’s voice. To hear Mommy say, No, no, darling, it was all a terrible mistake, Daddy is fine, he’s been out looking for you, and—
She seized the nearest phone, like a trapeze artist seizing the approaching swing. She called her mother.
A strange voice answered. A voice she had absolutely never heard before. A slightly harsh and loud woman’s voice. “Robie residence,” it said. Alice froze, trying to imagine who it could be, where her mother was.
After the tiny pause, the woman said in a slow, careful voice, “Alice? Your mother is lying down, Alice.”
The woman left little spaces between each sentence to encourage Alice to speak. “I’ll go ask her to come to the phone, Alice.”
“Who is this?” said Alice.
“This is Detective Burke, Alice.”
This is how criminals get caught, thought Alice. They call their mothers.
“Your mother is desperately worried about you, Alice.”
Alice hung up, as gently as if she were replacing crystal on a shelf.
Police were
She reminded herself that the police, like her mother, would be a poor source of comfort.
“Come on, Paul, move it,” said the last guy, and he, too, smiled at Alice, rather sweetly, as if they had shared something once, and the boys moved it, going down the hall in a group kind of way, bumping and talking in the code of good friends.
She had misjudged them, because of their racket and their pushing. And who, right now, was misjudging Alice?
“Thank you,” Alice called after them, but she didn’t think Paul had heard her.
Paul.
She was in high school with a computer wizard named Paul. No nerd, that Paul was gorgeous and athletic and a senior and everybody had crushes on him. He had been accepted at awesome institutes of technology—Massachusetts; California—and was trying to decide which one to honor with his presence.
She tried to imagine calling upon that Paul for computer assistance. Or any other kind of assistance. It was beyond possibility. He would not have spent a millisecond noticing Alice, the sophomore.
Of course, he was probably thinking of her now. The whole high school was probably thinking of her now. Alice? they were saying to each other. Sweet dull Alice?
Not the kind of girl you expect to be a killer , they were probably saying to the television reporters.
It seemed impossible to Alice that she could be a figure on the evening news: the kind they loved to linger on, a shocker. A bloody, cruel, awful shocker…and it was Alice.
Oh , like wow , her classmates were saying to each other, my locker is next to hers. Wonder if she’s had a submachine gun in there all this time.
She tried to imagine herself going back to that high school, or any high school, under such a cloud.
Cloud?
Suspicion of killing your own father was not a cloud.
It was a forty-foot brick wall with rolls of slice wire on top.
It was prison.
The boys disappeared down the corridor and Alice followed. She hoped they were headed for an open lab, rows of cubicles each with keyboard and screen. When the boys clattered up to the second floor, so did Alice.
She had chills. The place was overly air-conditioned. At the top of the stairs was a lounge, walls lined with vending machines, drinking fountains, padded black vinyl benches…and phones.
Was Mommy by the phone? Was she holding the phone book with its quilted cover? Playing with the china cat which held pencils? Sitting on the slipper chair with its pattern of white geese, and its pillow of stuffed sheep? Was Mommy praying Alice would call again?
What about Grandma and Grandpa, in Florida in their retirement home? Did they know yet?
Her grandparents adored Alice. Alice adored them.
Alice could possibly get to Florida on her credit card.
But—hide out in Grandma’s spare bedroom? Abandon her life? Leave her friends and classes? Her wardrobe and her cat?
She wanted desperately to hear her mother’s voice. To hear Mommy say, No, no, darling, it was all a terrible mistake, Daddy is fine, he’s been out looking for you, and—
She seized the nearest phone, like a trapeze artist seizing the approaching swing. She called her mother.
A strange voice answered. A voice she had absolutely never heard before. A slightly harsh and loud woman’s voice. “Robie residence,” it said. Alice froze, trying to imagine who it could be, where her mother was.
After the tiny pause, the woman said in a slow, careful voice, “Alice? Your mother is lying down, Alice.”
The woman left little spaces between each sentence to encourage Alice to speak. “I’ll go ask her to come to the phone, Alice.”
“Who is this?” said Alice.
“This is Detective Burke, Alice.”
This is how criminals get caught, thought Alice. They call their mothers.
“Your mother is desperately worried about you, Alice.”
Alice hung up, as gently as if she were replacing crystal on a shelf.
Police were
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