First Love Read Free Page A

go, and I don’t think you’d dig it.”
    The dog looked at him like he’d dig anything in the world as long as it involved more petting by Robinson. But when you’re running away from your life and you can’t take anything you don’t need, a stray dog falls in the category of Not Necessary.
    “Give him a little love, Axi,” Robinson urged.
    I bent down and dug my fingers into the dog’s dirty coat the way I’d seen Robinson do, and when I ran my hand down the dog’s chest, I could feel the quick flutter of his heart, the excitement of finding a home, someone to care for him.
    Poor thing
, I thought. Somehow, I knew exactly what he was feeling. He had no one, and he was stuck here.
    But we weren’t. Not anymore.
    “We’re leaving, little buddy. I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve just got to go.”
    It was totally weird, but for some reason that good-bye hurt almost as much as the one I’d whispered to my father.

4
    W E LEFT THE DOG WITH ONE OF R OBINSON’S sticks of beef jerky, then headed to the end of the block, where Robinson pulled up short. “There it is,” he whispered, with real awe in his voice. He grabbed my hand and we hurried through the intersection.
    “There
what
is?” I asked, but of course he didn’t answer me.
    If things went on like this, we’d have to have a little talk—because I didn’t want a traveling companion who paid attention to 50 percent of whatever came out of my mouth. If I wanted to be ignored, I could just stay in Klamath Falls with my idiotic classmates and my alcoholic father.
    “There is the answer,” Robinson said finally, sighing so big you’d have thought he just fell in love. He turned to me and bent down in an exaggerated bow, sweeping his arm out like avalet at some superfancy restaurant (the kind of place we don’t have in K-Falls).
    “Alexandra, milady, your chariot awaits,” Robinson said with a wild grin. I rolled my eyes at him, like I always do when he does this fake-British shtick with my full name.
    And then I rolled my eyes again: my so-called chariot, it turned out, was actually a
motorcycle
. A big black Harley-Davidson with whitewall tires and yards of shining chrome, and two black leather side bags decorated with silver grommets. There were tassels on the handlebars and two cushioned seats. The thing gleamed like it was straight off the showroom floor.
    Robinson was beside me, whispering in some foreign language. “Twin Cam Ninety-Six V-Twin,” he said, then something about “electronic throttle control and six-speed transmission” and then a bunch of other things I didn’t understand.
    It was an amazing bike, even I could see that, and I can hardly tell a dirt bike from a Ducati. “Awesome,” I said, checking my watch. “But we
really
should keep moving.”
    That was when I realized Robinson was bending toward the thing with a screwdriver in his hand.
    “Are you out of your
mind?
” I hissed.
    But Robinson didn’t answer me. Again.
    He was going to
hot-wire
the thing.
Holy s—
    I ran to the other side of the street and ducked down between two cars. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and I pressed my eyes shut.
    There was no way this was happening, I told myself. No way he was going to actually get the thing started, no way this was how our journey would begin.
    I had it all planned out, and it looked nothing like this.
    Then the roar of an engine split open the quiet morning. I opened my eyes and a second later Robinson’s feet appeared, one on either side of the Harley.
    We’re breaking the law!
I should have screamed. But my mind simply couldn’t process this change in plans. I couldn’t say anything at all. I just thought:
He’s running away in cowboy boots! That is so not practical!
And:
Why didn’t I bring mine?
    “Stand up, Axi,” Robinson yelled. “Get on.”
    I was rooted to the spot, my chest tight with anxiety. I was going to have a heart attack right here on Cedar Street, in between a pickup and a Volvo with a