Ghost Boy by Iain Lawrence

Author:Iain Lawrence
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780375890062
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2002-01-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter

31

From dinner till darkness, Harold worked with the elephants. Flip stayed at his side, and together they worked first with Canary Bird and then with Conrad. But one elephant threw the ball too wildly, and the other wouldn’t throw it at all. And when the first stars came out, the roses were led to their tent, where they tossed the straw into nests and settled down on their sides.

Flip was disappointed. “Maybe they’ll do better tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” said Harold. He wanted to get away from there, to walk with Flip to his little tent.

“I wish you could teach them.”

“I wish there was another one,” said Harold. And then, to show he meant it as a joke, he laughed. But Flip was very quiet.

“There used to be,” she said.

She had her back toward him, fiddling with the harnesses. He could hardly see her at all.

“He was my favorite,” she said. “Even bigger than Conrad, smart as a person almost.”

“What happened to him?” asked Harold.

“He died in a wreck.”

She talked softly, without turning around. Harold had to lean forward to hear her.

“My dad was driving. My mom was beside him. They went over a cliff, and all three of them died.”

“Gosh,” said Harold.

“I was in the next truck. Me and—one of the riggers. I saw it happen. Right in front of me.”

“How long ago?”

“Oh, ages. A year, I guess. A bit more than a year.”

Harold heard her sniff. The harnesses clattered in the darkness.

“I loved them so much,” she said. “My mom and my dad. I could never have run away like you. I would have missed my mom like crazy.”

The elephants made chuckling sounds as they fell asleep. The straw crackled when they moved their legs or trunks.

“Don’t you miss your mom?” asked Flip.

“A bit.” He missed her a lot when he thought about her, but not at all when he didn’t. The truth was, he missed his dog more than his ma. A little part of him was always thinking of Honey, a tiny part that never stopped feeling rotten—like a toothache—about leaving her behind.

“See?” said Flip. “I would have missed my mom like crazy if I’d ever run away. I couldn’t have gone a mile without running back again.”

She was making him sad, as though misery was a germ that could spread like a cold.

“I wish I was a bit like you,” she said. “I wish I could have run away, you know? I wish I was that sort of person.”

It made him love her even more. Harold had spent his whole life wishing he was like other people. No one had ever wanted to be like him.

Conrad started snoring. A faint rumble at first, it built to a roar. It sounded as though a diesel truck was racing through the tent. Flip giggled. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harold squinted and turned his head, looking for the patch of starlight at the door. He reached out to grope at the darkness and saw his hands like pale blobs, and nothing beyond them.

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