Джеймс Паттерсон - First Love

She laughed and turned to me. “Your boyfriend’s a flirt,” she said.

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” I said quickly.

Robinson’s response was almost as quick. “She asked me out, but I turned her down.”

I kicked him under the table and he yelped. “He’s lying,” I told her. “It’s the other way around.”

“You two are a comedy act,” Tiffany said. She wasn’t that much older than we were, but she shook her head like we were silly kids. “You should take that show on the road.”

Robinson took a big bite of pie. “Believe me, we’re gonna,” he said.

He shoved the plate toward me, but I shook my head. I couldn’t eat. I’d managed to keep a lid on my nerves, but now I felt like jumping out of my skin. When had I ever done anything this crazy, this monumental? I never even broke my curfew.

“Hurry up with that pie,” I said. “The bus to Eureka leaves in forty-five minutes.”

Robinson stopped chewing and stared at me. “Pardon?”

“The buuuuus ,” I said, drawing it out. “You know, the one we’re getting on? So we can get the heck out of here?”

Robinson cracked up, and I considered kicking him again, because it doesn’t take a genius to tell the difference between being laughed with and laughed at . “What’s so funny?”

He leaned forward and put his hands on mine. “Axi, Axi, Axi,” he said, shaking his head. “This is the trip of a lifetime. We are not going to take it on a Greyhound bus.”

“What? Who’s in charge of this trip, anyway?” I demanded. “And what’s so bad about a bus?”

Robinson sighed. “ Everything is bad about a bus. But I’ll give you some specifics so you’ll stop looking at me with those big blue eyes. This is our trip, Axi, and I don’t want to share it with a dude who just got out of prison or an old lady who wants to show me pictures of her grandkids.” He pointed a forkful of pie at me. “Plus, the bus is basically a giant petri dish for growing superbacteria, and it takes way too long to get anywhere. Those are your two bonus reasons.”

I threw up my hands. “Last I checked, we don’t have a private jet, Robinson.”

“Who said anything about a plane? We’re going to take a car, you dope,” he said. He leaned back in the booth and crossed his hands behind his head, totally smooth and nonchalant. “And I do mean take one.”

3

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ” I HISSED AS Robinson led us down one of the nearby side streets. His legs are about twice as long as mine, so I had to jog to keep up with him.

When we came to an intersection, I grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face me. Eye to eye. Scalawag to Ms. Straitlaced.

“Are you serious about this?” I said. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

He smiled. “You took care of the route. Let me take care of the ride.”

“Robinson—”

He shook off my grip and slung his arm around my shoulder, big brother–style. “Now settle down, GG, and I’ll give you a little lesson in vehicle selection.”

“A lesson in what? And don’t call me that.” It stands for Good Girl, and it drives me absolutely nuts when he says it.

Robinson pointed to a car just ahead. “Now that, see, is a Jaguar. It’s a beautiful machine. But it’s an XJ6, and those things have problems with their fuel filters. You can’t have your stolen car leaking gas, Axi, because it could catch on fire, and if you don’t die a fiery death, well, you’re definitely going to jail for grand theft auto.”

We walked on a little farther, and he pointed to a green minivan. “The Dodge Grand Caravan is roomy and dependable, but we’re adventurers, not soccer moms.”

I decided to pretend this was all make-believe. “Okay, what about that one?” I asked.

He followed my finger and looked thoughtful. “Toyota Matrix. Yeah, definitely a good option. But I’m looking for something with a bit more flair.”

By now the sun was peeking over the horizon, and the birds were up and chattering to each other. As Robinson and I walked down the leafy streets, I felt the neighborhood stirring. What if some guy stepped outside to grab the newspaper and saw us, two truants, suspiciously inspecting the neighborhood cars?

“Come on, Robinson,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.” I was still hoping we’d make the bus. We had ten minutes left.

“I just want the perfect thing,” he said.

At that moment, we saw a flash in the corner of our eyes. It was brown and fast and coming toward us. I gasped and reached out for Robinson.

He laughed and pulled me close. “Whoa, Axi, get a grip. It’s only a dog.”

My heart was thrumming. “Yeah, I can see that… now.”

I could also now see it wasn’t likely to be an attack dog, either. He was a small thing, with matted, shaggy fur. No collar, no tags. I took a step forward, my hand extended, and the dog flinched. He turned around and went right up to Robinson instead (of course) and licked his hand. Then the darn thing lay down at his feet. Robinson knelt to pet him.

“Robinson,” I said, getting impatient, “Greyhound bus or stolen car, the time is now.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. His long, graceful hands gently tugged on the dog’s ears, and the dog rolled onto his side. As Robinson scratched the dog’s belly, the animal’s leg twitched and his pink tongue lolled out of his little mouth in total canine ecstasy.

“You’re such a good boy,” Robinson said gently. “Where do you belong?”

Even though the dog couldn’t answer, we knew. He was skinny and his fur was clumped with mud. There was a patch of raw bare skin on his back. This dog was no one’s dog.

“I wish you could come with us,” Robinson said. “But we have a long way to go, and I don’t think you’d dig it.”

The dog looked at him like he’d dig anything in the world as long as it involved more petting by Robinson. But when you’re running away from your life and you can’t take anything you don’t need, a stray dog falls in the category of Not Necessary.

“Give him a little love, Axi,” Robinson urged.

I bent down and dug my fingers into the dog’s dirty coat the way I’d seen Robinson do, and when I ran my hand down the dog’s chest, I could feel the quick flutter of his heart, the excitement of finding a home, someone to care for him.

Poor thing , I thought. Somehow, I knew exactly what he was feeling. He had no one, and he was stuck here.

But we weren’t. Not anymore.

“We’re leaving, little buddy. I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve just got to go.”

It was totally weird, but for some reason that good-bye hurt almost as much as the one I’d whispered to my father.

4

WE LEFT THE DOG WITH ONE OF ROBINSON’S sticks of beef jerky, then headed to the end of the block, where Robinson pulled up short. “There it is,” he whispered, with real awe in his voice. He grabbed my hand and we hurried through the intersection.

“There what is?” I asked, but of course he didn’t answer me.

If things went on like this, we’d have to have a little talk—because I didn’t want a traveling companion who paid attention to 50 percent of whatever came out of my mouth. If I wanted to be ignored, I could just stay in Klamath Falls with my idiotic classmates and my alcoholic father.

“There is the answer,” Robinson said finally, sighing so big you’d have thought he just fell in love. He turned to me and bent down in an exaggerated bow, sweeping his arm out like a valet at some superfancy restaurant (the kind of place we don’t have in K-Falls).

“Alexandra, milady, your chariot awaits,” Robinson said with a wild grin. I rolled my eyes at him, like I always do when he does this fake-British shtick with my full name.