Small Steps - Louis Sachar [60]
For what? The whim of a rich and famous girl.
He had thought he’d made a real connection with her, but what did he know? It wasn’t that long ago that he’d thought he made a real connection with Tatiana. The truth was, half the girls at school could have easily won his heart. It wouldn’t have taken all that much; just a smile and he’d be hooked.
But would he have thrown his life away for one of them, or was it just because Kaira was rich and famous? He had mocked her for wanting to charge a thousand-dollar jacket to her room, but maybe that was the reason he came to San Francisco, to live that kind of highfalutin life.
No, it was more than that. At least, he thought it was more than that. He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know nothing about nothing.
And he had told her she didn’t have a clue! I’m the one who’s clueless.
He took a deep breath. The cool ocean air mixed with the exotic smells of Chinatown. There was something special about being in a strange place, all alone in a mass of people, even if you had just screwed up your life, or perhaps especially if you had just screwed up your life.
He stopped and bought some kind of steamed bun, still piping hot, from a Chinese vendor who didn’t speak English. The dough was made of rice flour, and it was soft and spongy on the outside. Inside was some of the best roast pork he’d ever eaten.
He was reminded of the speech for Wilbur the Pig. “He’ll bring about world peace, and if he doesn’t, everyone will get a ham sandwich.”
I may have ruined my life, Armpit thought, but at least I got to eat some really good Chinese food.
Fred moved with determination along the pedestrian walkway on the Golden Gate Bridge, oblivious to the dirty glances from slow-walking tourists as he elbowed his way past them. His face had the look of pained urgency. He had never lost Kaira before.
Every walker on the bridge, every driver in a car represented danger. Although, really, what worried him the most wasn’t some wild-eyed stranger. Sure, Theodore Johnson seemed like a good kid, but what did they know about him? Not much, except that he had a violent criminal history.
Fred made his way past the first tower on the bridge and was able to get a good view of the people up ahead. He spied a person wearing a red sweatshirt, but the person walking next to the red sweatshirt had on a yellow jacket and was too tall.
33
Kaira listened to Gilligan’s Island in the shower through a special speaker connected to the TV. She would have to leave for the concert in a little over an hour.
Not all the moisture on her face came from the shower nozzle. Some of it came from thinking that nobody would ever like her for who she was, only for what she was.
She’d be glad when the concert started and she could lose herself in the songs. Singing about heartbreak and betrayal would come easy. She’d have to conjure up an imaginary person again for the love songs.
Jerome Paisley knocked on the door to her suite, waited a moment, the slipped a key card into the lock. He opened the door and stuck his large head inside.
“Kaira,” he said, but not too loudly. He held the baseball bat. His hands were sweating inside the latex gloves.
He entered and pulled the door gently shut behind him. He could hear the shower running and the sound of the television.
Kaira’s suite was bigger than his, with three rooms and a working fireplace. It always bugged him that she got the best room.
The Skipper was yelling at Gilligan.
As Jerome Paisley made his way through the suite, he could feel his blood pounding inside his head. His eyes blurred momentarily, and he stopped to take a breath. So far it had just been a plan, an intellectual exercise by El Genius, but there was a big difference between the planning and the doing.
He gathered his courage and continued into the bedroom. He grabbed hold of a bedpost to steady himself, then waited just outside the bathroom door. The shower was still running.
He heard a rattling noise, then realized that his hand was shaking