“What?”
She pulled out something baby blue, beige, and brown, printed with an argyle pattern. Soft and fluffy, like a sweater.
“Spiffy, huh?” she said.
Spiffy? Who knew Sasha would be into spiffy? I looked over at the ugly yellow/orange coat she’d bought me. All those zippers and grommets. Not so much with the spiffy.
“It’s microfleece,” Sasha went on. “Machine wash, tumble dry.” She did the spokesmodel thing with her hands. “Collar,” she said, pointing to a thin band at one end. “Leg holes,” she said, pointing to two round openings. “Handy Velcro closing underneath. I had to guess the size,” she said, “but I think it’ll work.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” I said, trying to be appreciative. “It’ll probably be cold in Alaska.”
She frowned at me. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the blinding genius of this purchase.”
I shook my head. Guess not.
“Wings,” she said. “That’s how you know Mr. L’s not, like, your basic monitor or Gila monster. But if you can’t see the wings—if they’re covered—this guy’s just another lizard.”
Ah!
In the end, we parked under a couple of trees outside the ferry terminal and scoped it out. We’d splurged on a late lunch in a nice restaurant, fed and pottied the critter, dressed him up in his spiffy new jacket, and buckled the harness over that.
Reluctantly, I’d drugged him again, on the assumption the Tylenol would keep him from flaming. Now he lay sleeping in his carrier at my feet.
All I had to do was get on the boat. I’d ridden ferries before. Once you got on, they never checked tickets. When you were on, you were on.
Just get on the boat.
We stared at the long, winding line of waiting cars and trucks. It was just after five; the ferry wouldn’t leave until six, but they were supposed to get in line way early. To the west, beyond the ferry, the sky had gone yellowish and celumbral.
“Hey, that might work,” Sasha said. She pointed at a UPS van. “If you could somehow sneak in there.”
“But they’d lock it, right? Even if we did somehow get in, we’d be stuck for like three days.”
“Hmm,” Sasha said. “Drawback.”
I searched the line, looking for something, some way in. Pickups, SUVs, cars, delivery vans, semis, busses. Petrol, biodeez, hybrid, electric.
“Hey, Bryn. Look there.”
School bus. Three women stood just outside the door. They looked like moms, like parent helpers. One of them was pacing, talking into a cell phone. “Flat tire,” Sasha said.
I saw it now. The bus listed to one side. As we watched, the rear bus door swung open and a couple of kids climbed out, then a few more. They milled around. One of the PHs came around and shooed them back inside.
Now the line ahead of the bus had begun to move. The people in the cars behind it started up their engines, but they had nowhere to go. The PH with the phone walked over and talked to some of them, but soon the drivers farther back began to honk.
“Chaos,” Sasha said. “Opportunity.”
Two things happened then. Someone in an official-looking uniform moved the cones that marked the lanes; the cars began to edge around the bus. And a tow truck pulled up to the curb behind us. The tow truck driver walked through the lanes of traffic and said something to the PH with the phone. She motioned for the kids to get out. They poured out both doors—front and rear. Most of them looked middle school to high school age, but a few were younger, too, maybe fifth or sixth grade. A couple of ’tants, a couple of Goths, but mostly just straight-looking kids in jeans. The PHs started yelling at the kids, motioning them to stay close to the bus, but the kids weren’t paying attention.
Party time.
“Check out the camper,” Sasha said.
An old woman climbed out the side door of a big trailer camper, a little way behind the bus. She dug around in her purse, pulled out some keys. The driver of the car towing the camper must have said something, because she looked up, walked to his window, and talked to him. Then she shuffled around the front of the car and got in the passenger side.
“She forgot to lock it,” Sasha said.
“Maybe it locks from inside.”
“Then why did she get out her keys?”
The tow truck driver was jacking up the left front corner of the bus. Going to fix the tire. Somebody honked. A bunch of other drivers joined in. A Subaru pulled out of line and tried to take cuts. The Toyota just in front of it tried to pull out too; I heard the crash, a metal-on-metal crunch.
Lots of people got out of their cars to look. Toyota man started yelling at Subaru man. The bus kids drifted over toward the accident. The PHs were calling, trying to round up the kids, but it wasn’t working.
“There it is,” Sasha said. “What we’ve been waiting for.”
It was. I knew it. Nobody would notice if I opened that camper door and got in right now.
Don’t think about it. Just go.
I pulled a note out of my pocket. “Could you give this to my sister, Piper? Just somehow get it to her?”
Piper would give it to Aunt Pen to read, but I wanted Piper to know it was hers.
“Sure,” Sasha said.
I gave her a second piece of paper. “Here’s an e-mail address for Taj, Mom’s grad student. Could you tell him I’m okay? Not anything else, though. Not where I am. He might feel morally obligated to tell the cops.”
“Okay,” Sasha said. She reached over, stuffed a huge wad of cash in one of my pockets.
“No,” I said. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up and take it. I’ll put my Skagway guy on alert—his name is Bruce. But you’re probably in way more expensive trouble than either of us knows.” She slugged me softly on the arm. “Nobody has problems like you, Bryn.”
I swallowed. No words came out.
“Now get moving,” she said. “I don’t want to have to schlep your sorry butt back to Eugene.”
There was a thank-you in my mouth, but I knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. Especially since it might come out funny. All pasty-soft and shell-less. I nodded at her again.
Just go.
I opened the car door, skootched out with the pet carrier, turned back to pick up the duffel from the floor. I had to lean all my weight against that messed-up door to close it.
Then I turned and walked away.
25
JUST RUDE
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
Nobody seemed to be watching as I made my way along the line of cars. Plenty of other people to look at. People milling around, walking their dogs, gawking at the accident. The honking had pretty much died down, and so had the yelling, though every so often someone lost it and laid on the horn.
I could see the camper trailer, not far ahead. My heart was knocking around inside my rib cage. One part of me was thinking, What are you doing? You’re insane. While another part thought, Just go.
What would I say if I got caught? Oops, I thought it was ours. We have a trailer just like this one. Or, I got separated from my parents and I can’t find them, and I need to get on the ferry.
As if anybody would ever believe me.
Coming up behind the camper, I saw the driver in the rear-view mirror. He leaned forward, fiddling with the GPS. I set down the duffel and reached for the door handle. I pulled.
It didn’t budge. I pulled again.
Locked.
I grabbed for the duffel and stumbled backward, praying the driver hadn’t seen me.
“Ouch!”
It was a kid. I’d knocked him flat on his butt. I set down the duffel and reached to help him, but he ignored my hand and got up by himself.
“Sorry,” I said. “You okay?”
He shrugged. “You should watch where you’re going.” He brushed himself off. Didn’t seem hurt, though. He was maybe a fifth- or sixth-grader. Kind of early Harry Potterish. Short and skinny. Glasses. Short, dark hair that cowlicked in the back
. He turned to go.
I glanced at the camper trailer. The driver wasn’t fiddling with the GPS anymore. He was looking back at me. Not suspicious, really, but noticing.
So much for that idea. There were other campers and vans around here, but I couldn’t just go around testing doors. I was about to give up, head back to Sasha so she could schlep my sorry butt back to Eugene, when I noticed the kid hadn’t gone anywhere. He was stooping at my feet, peering inside the pet carrier.
“Whoa,” he said. “What is that?”
“Um,” I said, “it’s a lizard.”
“Like a huge lizard! Is it your pet?”
I nodded. “What’s its name?”
“Ah, Mr. Lizard.”
“Mr. Lizard? That’s the best you could do?”
Little twerp. “Gotta go,” I said. I picked up the duffel, headed back toward Sasha.
But the kid tagged along. “What kind of lizard is it?”
“They call it”—I vamped—“a Burmese water dragon. They’re very rare.”
“Does it bite?” he asked.
“Um,” I said, “yes. Better not get too close.”
Behind me, I heard a shout from the direction of the bus. “Anderson! Get back here. We’re leaving!”
“Be right there!” the kid yelled back. Anderson, apparently. But he stuck to me, still on about the critter. “Are you taking it on the ferry?”
I stopped. Looked at him. Drew in a slow breath. Maybe I had one more chance.
“I, uh, got separated from my parents and I can’t find them,” I said. “I’ve got to get on the ferry somehow. I can meet up with them on board.”
“They wouldn’t get on the ferry without you, would they?”
No. Of course they wouldn’t. That didn’t make sense at all. Stuff like this always happened when I lied. “I’m not sure they know I’m gone,” I said. “I’ve got a really big family, and they get involved in their own activities, and they’re very kind of focused, uh, on their own, uh, activities, and then …” I trailed off.
Anderson looked disgusted. “You’re lying,” he said.
I swallowed. Nodded slowly. “Want to know the truth?”
He frowned, suspicious. “Go ahead.”
“I can’t tell you everything, but … I’ve got to get the lizard up to a professor in Alaska. He’ll know how to take care of him, or anyway, he can find out. I’m feeding him, like, junk food, and I don’t have anyplace to keep him. Nobody wants to take him—nobody I can trust. My family … you wouldn’t believe it if I told you about my family, but everything I just said about the, uh, animal is true.”
“Could it die?”
“It could. Seriously. It really could.”
Another shout from the bus. Anderson squatted to peer in the pet carrier again. He was thinking, I could tell. He stood up. “I can get you on,” he said.
“On the bus?”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Anderson and I were the last ones in the rear door. Some of the bigger guys yanked it shut behind us, and then we were moving. We found a seat near the back; I set the pet carrier on the floor in front of me. The PH at the front of the bus was taking a head count. “Get down,” Anderson said. I scooted the pet carrier toward Anderson and crouched on the floor beside it. Anderson skootched over to my side of the seat and planted his feet on my back. He got out his phone and started texting or gaming or something. Hopefully, not ratting me out.
The floor was sticky. It smelled like Cheetos and dust and some kind of fruity gum. “Is she still counting?” I asked.
“Yep.” Anderson shoved his phone down in front of the pet carrier grill.
“Cut it out,” I said. “No pictures.”
He pulled the phone away and grinned at me. “Too late!”
Twerp.
“Okay, you can get up now,” he said.
I did.
No one seemed to notice. They were all talking or texting or gaming or plugged in to their tunes. Some of them sucking on inhalers. “What kind of group is this?” I asked Anderson, real soft.
“Methodist,” he said. Not looking up from his phone. I peeked. He was surfing the Net.
“Where are you all going?”
“Camp in Skagway.”
Skagway. Me too.
“Are you all from the same church?”
“Nope.”
Good. So maybe not everybody would know everybody else. An outsider wouldn’t be so obvious.
Three kids in the seat in front of us turned around and checked me out. I smiled. Tried to look like I belonged. One of them smiled back—a boy. Then they all turned around again. I wasn’t that interesting, apparently.
I looked out the window, tried to catch sight of Sasha’s car, but we were facing the wrong direction. I could see the ferry, though. Coming near.
Yeah, it would be bad to get booted off the bus, but it was scary to be here too. Going to Alaska. To Skagway. Everything hinging on some guy named Bruce, some guy I’d never met.
What are you doing, Bryn?
“Hey!” Anderson poked my arm. “Hey, I can’t find Burmese water dragon.”
“They’re really rare,” I said. “Not many people know about them.”
Anderson glared at me, indignant. “I’ve used five search engines already. I bet you made it up.”
“That’s right,” I admitted. “I did. It’s really a dragon. A baby dragon. The jacket covers up its wings.”
Anderson blinked. Then shook his head. “That’s just rude,” he said. “If you don’t know what kind it is, you should just say so.”
The bus jolted; the tires hummed beneath us. It got darker all at once, and I could feel that we weren’t on solid ground anymore. I looked out the windows. A parking structure, with water at the far end and metal walls on both sides.
I’d made it onto the ferry, after all. If I didn’t get caught, I’d be in Skagway in three days.
Though after that …
Hopefully, Sasha’s friend Bruce would meet me there. Hopefully, he could link me up with a pilot. Hopefully, the pilot wouldn’t ask too many questions. Hopefully, the critter wouldn’t flame. Hopefully, I’d be able to find Dr. Jones, and hopefully, he’d help. Hopefully …
Cut it out, Bryn. Breathe.
I breathed.
It helped, a little.
But there were way too many hopefullys in this plan.
26
STRANGE TIME
INSIDE PASSAGE, OFF CANADA AND ALASKA
There was a dicey moment when I stepped off the bus and one of the PHs looked at the pet carrier a little too long. “I didn’t know we had pets with us,” she said.
But Anderson said, “Oh, yeah, we’re good. Come on, Ashley.” The woman eyed me doubtfully but let me pass.
“Hope you don’t mind, Ashley,” Anderson said when we were out of earshot. “There’s a bunch of Ashleys on the bus.”
“Works for me,” I said. “Thanks.”
“What are you going to do with your lizard?”
Sasha had found out that you had to leave your pets on the car deck, either in your car or truck or whatever or in a special spot up near the front. They had “pet call” three times a day, when you could go down and take care of them. The rest of the time, the doors to the car deck stayed locked.
I looked around. “There,” I said. I pointed to a row of pet carriers near a man with a uniform who was talking to a lady holding a cat. A girl set down a carrier at the end of the row. Uniform man didn’t even look.
“Here goes,” I said. Walked on over there. Set it down. Walked away.
Nobody said boo.
I didn’t like it, though. It wasn’t heated down here. The critter might get cold. Yeah, he had his jacket and his SolarSox. But still. He was bound to get chilly, wasn’t he?
And what would he do when he woke up and I wasn’t there?
But I didn’t have a choice. Pet call. I’d check on him then.
Anderson caught up to me on the
way up the stairs.
“He never noticed,” he said.
“Phew.”
He held out his hand, a funny, formalish, adult-like thing to do. I shook it. “Anderson Brown,” he said. “And you are …?”
I almost told him my name. I felt like I owed him something. But I caught myself. Don’t be stupid. Don’t let him in. The cops were probably looking for me, and if he let my name slip …
“Ashley,” I said.
He dropped my hand in disgust. “What’s wrong with you?” he said. “Can’t you at least be civilized?”
It was a strange time, those days on the ferry. The first morning, we cruised through a dense, wet bank of mist; it felt like the world had shrunk to the size of the boat itself plus a narrow rim of heaving gray water. When the mist burned off, though, it was like we’d warped into a fantasy landscape. Mountains, veined with snow, towered on either side of the narrow strait. Moss green forests sloped down to the edge of the water, which mirrored the mountains and the clouds that streamed across the sky. Every so often, we headed for a tiny toy town, its buildings crowded into the thin strip between the mountains and the strait. Fishing boats nuzzled at the docks, and seaplanes buzzed overhead like dragonflies—bright-colored, glinting in the sun.
The feedings went okay. Three times a day, a loudspeaker announced pet call. A steward unlocked the door, and the pet people trooped on down. You could feed your pets in your cars, or you could feed them in the pet area with the carriers. There was a handy little peeing and pooping area, complete with scoops and plastic baggies.
Some of the pet people looked seriously stunned when they first saw my “lizard.” Couldn’t say I blamed them. He’d grown to the size of one of those huge tomcats that terrorize small dogs. But I told everyone he was old and harmless, and after a while they calmed down. Anyway, they were so into happy reunioning with their own little critters, they didn’t have all that much energy to spend on mine.
I’d run out of ReliaVite, which would have been awkward anyway. Good thing the critter loved junk food. Hot dogs, chili, burgers, nachos. Most things with peanut butter. Anything with cheese.
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