Mr. Lopez would really like these colors. The leaves look like red and gold and yellow feathers floating in the air.
I sit on the front stoop watching kids race their bikes. I see Mandy in the street along with others from our fifth-grade class. They race through piles of leaves, making them swirl. It looks like a lot of fun.
The four brothers are inside the house, getting ready for their Saturday-afternoon events.
Maybe just once before I leave . . .
Deciding to make a run through the leaves, I haul my Rover Sport off the porch and ride to the end of the block.
“Hey, Oddball,” Mandy says, riding with me to the start line. “Glad to see you’re not hidin’ out anymore.”
I can’t help but grin at the other oddball. But when I turn around to begin my run through the leaves, I find she’s not the only one who will be riding along with me. One by one, our classmates line up on either side of us.
“They want you to race them,” Mandy whispers.
Yeah, I got that.
“I’m not racing,” I tell them. “I just wanna make one run through the leaves.” I take off before anyone can answer.
Mandy takes off after me. They all take off.
Kids and bikes surround me. One kid behind me bumps my Rover Sport, so I pedal faster to get ahead of him. All at once, another kid pulls right in front of me.
“Move over!” I yell. “We’re gonna crash!” He doesn’t move, so I swerve to one side and begin to pump. When I near the finish line in front of the house, I lean forward, using my weight as momentum. I leave everything behind—trees and houses and bikers.
“Yahoo!” I yell, wheeling to a stop. The leaves swirl around me like I’m in the middle of a leaf tornado.
“You won!” Mandy yells, pulling up next to me. “You won the race!”
“I wasn’t racing.” Rolling my bike to the curb, I see the four brothers on the porch.
“Boy, Frankie Joe,” Johnny calls out, “you’re pretty fast!”
“Real fast,” Luke says. “You beat those others by a mile.”
“I can beat him,” Matt growls. He pulls his bike off the porch and pushes it into the street.
“I don’t know.” Mark sounds doubtful. “Frankie Joe beat me in that race, remember? And he’s even faster on his bike.”
“Shut up,” Mandy tells Mark. “Let them race. Just once, I’d like to see someone put Matt in his place.”
All the kids start yelling, “Race! Race!”
“I’m ready,” Matt says, pulling his bike up next to mine. “Let’s get to the starting line.”
I look at the racing tires on Matt’s bike. I don’t stand a chance against those tires. “I’m not gonna race you,” I tell him. “I just wanted to make one run.”
“I dare you,” Matt says.
“No.”
“Double dare you!”
“No.” I’m not about to give Matt, the honor student and Student Council representative, another chance to rub it in.
Matt blows up like a bag of microwave popcorn. “You’re chicken!” he yells, turning to the other kids. “Scared Sneaky Freaky Slow Frankie Joe’s a chicken!”
Everyone’s yells, “Scared Sneaky Freaky Slow Frankie Joe’s chicken.”
I can’t take it. Before I know it, I’m racing back down the street. I hear the others behind me, yelling “He’s gonna race! He’s gonna race Matt!”
Are they going to be surprised. They think I’m heading for the starting line, but I’m not.
When I reach the cornfield at the end of the block, I don’t stop. I race down a corn row without slowing down. The long leaves slap me in the face, and I bounce over the roots; but I don’t look back. I know that no one will follow me because their skinny tires aren’t right for off-road biking.
Only a little longer, I think, letting the corn swallow me up. Soon I’ll leave this one-horse town in my dust.
Delivering pizzas has made me tired, but before bed, I revise my escape-to-Texas plan again.
Bedroll Got it.
Tarp Have to buy one.
Spare bike tube and flat kit Buy at the garage downtown.
Pot for cooking Got it.
Matches to start a fire Maybe in the kitchen.
Canteen Use plastic bottles.
Jacket Got one.
Bungee cord Got it.
Money Working on it.
Triple A maps Got them.
Mementos Can’t leave them behind.
“Wait,” I mumble. “I’ll need a change of clothes for when I wash out my dirty ones in the rivers.” I add a pair of jeans and shirt, socks and underwear to my list and look it over again. I decide to make a quick run downstairs to check out matches. On the ground floor, I wait, listening to see if Matt’s following me.
The coast is clear.
I inch my way down the hall but stop at the kitchen door. Someone’s talking.
Swell. FJ and Lizzie are still up. I stand quiet, listening.
“How long you think it’ll take?” Lizzie asks.
“He wasn’t sure,” FJ answers. “Four to six months, I figure.”
“That long?”
“These kind of things don’t happen overnight,” he says.
“You think there’ll be any . . . problems?”
Silence.
Wonder what problems they’re worried about?
I sneak my way back down the hall and up the stairs. I have my own problems. December 22—when winter begins—is a little over a month away, and I still don’t have everything I need.