Dead Ends Read Free

straightforward—three turns and a cut across the baseball diamonds—so it wasn’t hard to spot him tailing me. I had just veered off our street when he popped up on the opposite sidewalk, stomping along with that weird hunch and his face aimed down at the ground. He was so focused on where he was putting his own feet that I wouldn’t have even guessed he was following me if I hadn’t taken my shortcut through the gardens.
    Sometimes, when I was running late in the mornings, I would cut through a cluster of houses that surrounded a grid of flower gardens. The houses all had back doors that opened up to a courtyard with brick walking paths, which zigzagged through square brick pens, each containing a different type of flower. The flowers didn’t do much for me, but it was nice toknow the gardens were there—that something that pristine still existed in our neighborhood. It was the kind of place I might take a girl who deserved flowers. Too bad most of the girls I knew were the kind who had already been
de
flowered.
    I took the path that angled to the right and spotted him out of the corner of my eye taking the one to the left. He still wasn’t looking at me, but when I slowed down near a patch of yellow flowers, he slowed, too, over by some pink ones. And when I bent down and pretended to tie my shoe, he literally stopped to smell the roses.
    I couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble this kid was looking for, but I was going to find out. I stayed in a crouch and pushed one foot back into a runner’s stance. Then I launched off the ground and sped out of the gardens as fast as my feet would go. The crooked paths slowed me down, so I hurtled into the air and cleared the last brick flower box with a single flying leap. I didn’t look back to see if he could keep up; there was no way the little stomper was coordinated enough to catch me.
    Certain I’d left him in the dust, I leaped behind the first house I saw as soon as I was clear of the gardens and waited, chest heaving, back pressed up against the siding. I heard his heavy shuffling footsteps coming through the grass a few seconds later and pounced.
    I burst out from behind the wall. “Why are you following me?”
    But I might as well have shouted “
Boo!
” because I gave the kid such a scare he only stammered and started to wheeze. His bent posture went ramrod straight, and his hands balled intofists near his face. I supposed this was the desired effect, but instead of feeling gratified, I was freaked out. The last thing I needed was to get blamed for some retard’s hysterical fit.
    â€œHey,” I said, gripping his shoulder. “Relax.”
    He obeyed, slowly unclenching his fists and controlling his breathing.
    â€œYeah, like that,” I said. I let go of his shoulder and crossed my arms. “Now, why are you following me?”
    He gulped some air and said as quickly as he could, “Because of the guys who said they would get me and because you know the way to school and because of the boy you beat up—”
    â€œWhich boy?”
    His eyes widened a little, and when he spoke, I heard awe. “You beat up a lot of boys?”
    â€œNot your business.”
    â€œThe one in the car.”
    â€œYou know him?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “No.”
    â€œThen why do you care?”
    â€œYou ask a lot of questions,” he said.
    â€œYou better start answering them. I like being followed about as much as I like being stared at. Or having my clothes insulted.”
    His eyes moved down my outfit, but if he found any fault, he was smart enough not to say so. Instead, he lifted his face back to mine. “I’m afraid of some boys at school. But they’re afraid of you. If I walk to school with you, I don’t feel scared.” He held up his hands in a “what are ya gonna do?” move, but his facial features never changed.
    I wondered who those guys might be.