A & L Do Summer by Jan Blazanin

Author:Jan Blazanin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: eBook ISBN| 9781606842430
Publisher: EgmontUSA
Published: 2011-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

thirteen

AFTER TEN OR A HUNDRED MINUTES, LAUREL AND I STAGGER TO the top of a hill and stop to catch our breath. From here I can still see the flickering red and blue lights of the police cars parked by the barn. But my stomach flips like a spinning disk of pizza dough when I see the smaller, fainter lights fanning out through the woods and fields.

“What are we going to do, Laurel? The police are chasing us!” Terror sucks at my breath. “If they catch us …” it’s too horrible to put into words.

Laurel’s round face hardens into grim lines. “They won’t.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Let’s go.”

Hand in hand we hurl ourselves downhill, away from the flickering lights. Raspberry canes tear at my bare legs and leave long, fiery scratches. Hundreds of burrs poke into my new tee and shorts. Heat sears my lungs, and my breath comes in sobs that tear at my throat. I trip and catch myself, only to trip again.

We can’t get caught. We can’t get caught. We can’t. We can’t. The words pound in my head, keeping time with my running, stumbling feet.

My sandals slip on the soggy weeds and sink into the soft earth. The farther down the hill we run, the muddier it gets. Dampness clings to my face and arms, and I hear a wheezing, gurgling noise that’s growing louder and louder.

By the time I realize what’s making the noise, we’re going too fast to stop. Momentum carries us into cold, murky creek water that smells like earthworms and other things that gave up on being alive a while ago. My feet try to slide in five directions at once, and in half a breath I’m sitting waist-deep in water.

Laurel, having a lower center of gravity, is still standing, although the water is sloshing up to her knees. She leans over and drags me to my feet. “OMG, Aspen! Did you get any of that water in your mouth?”

I shake my head no, but she keeps ranting. “You could catch typhoid or cholera or E. coli or—”

“Laurel! I didn’t swallow any.” Which doesn’t rule out rampant infection from the bacteria-infested water seeping into the scratches on my arms and legs. “Just help me out of here.”

With mud sucking at our shoes, we wade out of the creek and fight through the brambles on the opposite bank. My legs feel like dead stumps weighted down with cement. I do my best to protect my face from the lashing branches, but when they snap against my skin they bring tears to my eyes.

Laurel and I plod forward in no particular direction except away from the barn. One thing we have going for us is the moon, which is faintly visible through the clouds. If we keep it in front of us, we’re not walking in circles. Are we?

Two flooded, nasty-smelling ditches later we slog onto a gravel road. We’re coated with mud from the waist down and scratched everywhere else.

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