Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [37]
Check please.
I wave like a maniac. “See you later,” I babble, and scramble out the door while I still have a brain.
Twenty-Four
All the way to the bus stop, I’m scared I’ll bump into Jason. It’s barely two o’clock. He should still be at school, but what if he’s skipping? What if he’s gone online to check my cell’s GPS site, to see where I am? What if he’s here already, hiding someplace, watching me?
I keep an eye open for escape routes. If worst comes to worst, I figure I can cut across backyards. He wouldn’t be able to follow on his motorcycle. But what if I’m cornered by somebody raking leaves? Or a pit bull?
I want to be home under the covers. But no way for that. The minute Jason sees his room, he’s going to come after me. I picture me trapped in the apartment, with him in the hall trying to break down the door. Or the cops coming to arrest me after Mrs. McCready sees the chaos, not to mention the computer in the pool. No. Home isn’t safe.
Besides, I can’t go there with the memory card. I have to think of a hiding place. I want to destroy it, but I can’t. If the cops come for me, it’s all I have to stop the McCreadys from pressing charges. Not that I’d ever hand it over, but I could make the threat. Would that be blackmail?
All these thoughts zap my brain as I ride the bus to the subway. Once I’m at the station, inside, underground, I start to relax. If cops are after me, they won’t look here. And Jason can’t ride his bike down the escalator. Even if he did, what could he do to me in front of all these people?
As long as I stay where I am, I’ll be fine. I buy an Oh Henry bar at the kiosk, sit on a bench and eat it, watching people get on and off the trains.
I wonder how long I could live here. I picture me holed up in a cardboard box somewhere down the tunnel, coming out early in the morning to stock up on Coke, chips, hot dogs and nachos. Once I’m reported missing, I’d have to watch out for people who might’ve seen my picture on a local news show. But it wouldn’t be bad, apart from the rats and finding a bathroom: the subway toilets have been locked up for years.
Mom would be worried. But I could use the pay phone to leave a message saying I’m okay and I love her.
Just as I polish off my bar and get ready to toss the wrapper, I see these two subway patrol cops walking towards me. They look pretty grisly, like they don’t get out much. What do they want?
I stare at the wad of gum squashed on the floor in front of me. If I stare hard enough, maybe I’ll disappear. It works. The cops walk right past me and start hassling this guy playing guitar at the end of the platform. They’re just like Mr. Manley, without teachers college.
When the train pulls in, I hop on. It’s pretty full, but I find an empty seat at the end of the car. My back’s protected. But not my mind. It starts playing tricks. I imagine the memory card falling out of my pocket, getting found, and then the pictures put on the Net.
Does being paranoid make me look suspicious? I concentrate on acting normal. But the more I concentrate on that, the more I freak.
Still, you can’t freak forever. Without knowing when it happens, I zone out, bored, staring out the window at the tunnel and the stations flying by, until I’m sort of hypnotized. I’m like a zombie for I don’t know how long, till my mind reboots.
I think about how if I didn’t look at my watch I wouldn’t know the time. So much has happened since this morning in Beachball’s office, it could be years ago.
Time is just plain weird. When I was seven in Seattle, my Granny P. and Laura Wilson were at the center of my life. Now that Granny’s dead, I only remember her in flashes, like snapshots, and Laura could be anywhere. It’s like time keeps ticking, adding new people and things until sooner or later everybody forgets all about the old ones, even the old ones they used to care about.
I wish time was something I could grab hold of.