B003J5UJ4U EBOK Read Free Page B

with cash. There was more than enough money to buy everything I needed. Instead of relief, the sight of the cash made me gag. I fought back the sour flood of nausea that burned my tongue.
What’s happening to me?
    I caught up to the guy and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Mister,” I said as he turned toward me. “You dropped this.” I thrust out the wallet.
    He slapped his back pocket, then snatched the wallet outof my hand. For an instant, he glared at me suspiciously, but then relief took over. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He reached in and pulled out a twenty. “Here, I want you to have a reward.”
    “You sure? I don’t really deserve this.” I stared at the money, afraid to touch it.
    “Take it.” He practically shoved the bill into my chest.
    I took the money. My gut twitched, but didn’t make a major protest. I looked down at the twenty-dollar bill in my hand. Like it or not, I knew how I was going to fund my shopping trip. I crossed the street and spotted another jutting wallet.
It’s not stealing. I’m giving it right back.
That thought helped a bit.
    “Why are you wearing pajamas?” the second guy asked as he handed me a reward.
    “I’m going to a sleep over.”
    The third wallet was easier. I didn’t feel great about getting money this way, but I only took wallets that were already in danger of getting snatched. So I guess I could say I was giving people a cheap lesson in protecting their valuables.
    I thought about how Lucky got in trouble. He’d find wallets, keys, jewelry, and all sorts of other stuff. That
was
his hidden talent—he could hear lost things calling out to him. He tried to return them. After a while, everyone thought he was a thief. I wonder what he’d think if he could see me getting rewarded and thanked?
    Nine wallets later, I had almost one hundred and fifty dollars. I looked around for a place that didn’t have a NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO SERVICE sign. Finally, I found a thriftshop, where I bought pants, underwear, a t-shirt, and a cheap pair of sneakers. When the girl at the checkout stared at me, I shrugged and said, “I thought it was pajama day at school. Boy was I wrong.” She gave me a
whatever
look.
    I put the sneakers on right there, then changed in a McDonald’s bathroom and stuffed the pajamas into the trash can. Perfect. I could blend in and go anywhere now. I felt a bit less like I had a large, blinking arrow pointing down at me. But as I walked out of the bathroom, a guy in a dark blue suit rushed through the door and bumped into me. I screamed and jumped back, ready to run.
    “Sorry, kid.” He edged around me.
    It’s not him. Get a grip.
I scurried out of there.
    Based on the street names and the large number of Eagles shirts and Phillies caps I saw all around me, I figured out I was in Philadelphia. That was good. I only lived about twenty miles away. After hunting around for several blocks, I found a pay phone that wasn’t broken. I checked my loose change from the clothing store. I had just enough coins to call home. I couldn’t wait to hear Mom’s voice. Or even Dad’s. They’d tell me what was going on.
    The phone rang and rang. The answering machine didn’t even pick up the call. I tried Mom’s cell numbers, but got an out-of-service message. I tried to dial Dad’s number, but my hand was shaking too much to press the right buttons. I wedged the receiver against my ear with my shoulder, then steadied my left hand with my right and tried again.
    Out of service? No way. That can’t be right. Dad never leaves the house without his cell phone. He even takes it withhim when he goes out to the back yard. I can see him, sitting by the gas grill, letting it ring. Once. Twice. He’d pick up on the third or fourth ring. “Never act too eager,” he’d tell me. “Not if you want to come out on top.”
    I tried all three numbers again, just to make sure. The result was the same. Did they know where I was? I wasn’t even sure how long