Small as an Elephant - Jennifer Richard Jacobson [55]
But how would he explain all the scrapes on his face?
“Hello,” he said, turning to face the officer but keeping his head tipped down.
“Do you live here in town?” the officer asked.
“Yes,” Jack said. Oh, that was brilliant. Obviously, the next question will be, where? “I have a violin lesson in a half hour,” said Jack. “Just killing time.”
“Oh yeah? What’s your violin teacher’s name?”
“Um, Mrs. —” He banged his head with his left hand and tried to look scatterbrained. “I can’t believe I’m forgetting it. I only started last week. But her house is right down there,” he said, pointing toward the house he’d passed with the violin-lessons sign.
“So, where’s your violin?”
Jack’s palms started sweating. He could tell the officer didn’t believe him. “I’m borrowing one. My parents want to make sure I stick with it before they buy me one.” Which was exactly what his mom had said when he begged to take up the trumpet last year.
“Well, why don’t you get in? I’ll drive you to your lesson.”
“That’s OK. It’s not that far,” he said. “Anyway, I wanted to get some breakfast first.”
“OK,” said the officer. “Just wanted to be of help.”
“Thanks, though,” Jack said, figuring that’s what a normal kid would do in this situation. His heart still hammering away, he turned and started to walk toward the nearest store, which appeared to be a drugstore.
“Hey, Jack!” the officer yelled.
Jack turned around. “Yeah?”
And then he realized what he’d done.
He’d fallen for a trick — answered to his own name!
“Thought so,” said the officer calmly. “Get in the car, son. I’ll take you to Moody’s Diner for breakfast — after we radio news to your grandmother.”
The world was collapsing around Jack. He’d come so far. He’d tried so hard! And he’d been so close! But he’d let everyone down — his mother (who would probably go to jail now), and Sylvie, and even Wyatt, who would likely be in big trouble for lying to the police.
Suddenly, he was running, even though he knew it was pointless. He heard the police officer calling after him but didn’t dare stop. He ducked into the drugstore, which seemed to be empty, and ran toward the back, praying there would be a door. There was. He flew through the door and came to a stairwell. Up or down? Down was darker. He raced down the stairs into a dark, crowded basement. Small windows let in just enough light for him to see a door in the back. He ran to the door and searched frantically for the knob. There wasn’t one. Or even a latch.
The door was nailed shut.
He was trapped.
Jack crouched between a broken wheelchair and cardboard boxes full of cartons of cotton swabs. He could hear feet pounding on the old wooden floors above. Voices called out for him: the booming voice of the police officer, and a softer voice — the voice of the pharmacist, Jack guessed.
At one point, the policeman came into the basement and flicked on a dim light. He also used his flashlight — shining it into all the corners. Jack had never remained so still in his entire life. In fact, if he hadn’t felt his heart madly searching for a way to exit his body, he would have sworn he was dead.
“No kid would stay down here very long,” the cop called up.
“I keep meaning to clean it up.”
“Is this your only exit?” asked the policeman, slowly ascending the steps.
“There’s a fire escape at the other end of the building. I’ve got a floor plan in the office I can show you.”
Jack hadn’t seen an office. Had he missed a door? His only hope now was that it would look like he’d gone down that fire escape. But he doubted it would be that simple.
Jack shivered uncontrollably, his muscles exhausted from holding still so long.
He could still hear voices above him, but he could no longer hear what was being said. He figured his best bet would be to do exactly what he’d done at L.L. Bean: stay put until the store closed and hope that by that time, the police would have assumed he was long