Survival Strategies of the Almost Brave Read Free Page B

slowly. “That where he went?”
    â€œYep. That’s it. Should be back any minute. We’re fine. Thank you, sir,” I said, pulling Billie around the corner where the ice machine sat, fat and heavy.
    â€œHold up,” said Shiny Head, following us. He pulled on the blue thread, wrapping it tight around his finger. “Why didn’t your dad take you with him?”
    I backed up.
    He stopped pulling and put his hands back in his deep pockets, like maybe he was harmless, like a puppy dog.
    Then his eyes narrowed.
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said, licking the sweat off his upper lip. “I’ll help you girls.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Just tell me what kind of trouble you’re in.” His breath felt heavy on my face and smelled like something dead.
    Go away.
    I grabbed Billie’s hand and squeezed it hard.
    Do it. Do it, Billie. Fake it, fake it right now.
    Our eyes locked for a moment, and then … she nodded. After all this time, we really didn’t need to speak; we understood each other.
    â€œLiberty, I don’t feel so good,” moaned Billie. “I don’t feel good at all.” She clutched her stomach and bowed forward like she was looking at her flip-flops.
    â€œCarsick,” I said too loud, looking past Shiny Head’s shoulders. “My sister’s carsick.”
    Fake car sickness had saved us when we needed to stop for food and Dad didn’t want Billie to barf in the camper.
    â€œHere it comes,” shouted Billie, her big eyes glassy, hand over her mouth.
    Shiny Head jerked back, his nose scrunched up like he’d stepped in dog poop.
    I pushed past him and dragged moaning Billie inside, into the gas station, through the shop and then into the bathroom.
    We locked the door behind us. The bathroom sucked us in, like it was taking one big deep breath. One hot, stinky breath. I knelt down next to the door and listened for Shiny Head. My knees stuck to the floor. Toilet paper snakes coiled around the sink, ready to strike.
    Billie slid down next to me and breathed out slow and long, like a balloon deflating. We sat there waiting for something. Just waiting.
    Where was Dad?
    Deep inside, I felt cold. Like the panic seeped out of the cramped crease inside my brain and dripped slowly into my bloodstream.

 
    Survival Strategy #5:
    HIBERNATE
    â€œDon’t you lock me out!” yelled Shiny Head. His hand slapped at the door, the wood bouncing with each smack.
    â€œAs soon as I find my keys, you’ll be sorry,” he growled. His footsteps faded away.
    Please, keys, stay hidden. Hibernate for life.
    Billie smiled. Then she laughed, kind of crazy-like. “Did you see his face when I hunched over? He thought I was going to spew all over his nasty shoes.”
    â€œShh,” I said, grabbing her hand. It was shaking.
    â€œSpew,” she said smiling. “Spew on his shoe.”
    She covered her mouth and laughed like she’d just heard the funniest knock-knock joke in the world.
    I smiled, uneasy. “Shh.”
    Then Billie’s eyes got big and she really did throw up, all over the floor and her sparkly flip-flops. I dragged her over to the toilet, grabbed some paper towels, and tried to clean her off. I threw her flip-flops into the sink.
    Billie began to cry. And when she cried, I guessed it was all right for me to cry, too.
    I cried because Shiny Head was ugly and scary. I cried because the bathroom stank like a Porta-Potty. And I cried for other important things, like:
    1. Mom was floating in the ocean.
    2. Dad was gone.
    3. We were lost and alone.
    â€œWhere’s Daddy?” asked Billie, sniffing real loud and clinging to my neck like she was a baby sloth and I was her mama. Baby sloths and their mamas don’t ever like to be separated. She closed her eyes as I smoothed the hair on top of her head.
    â€œDon’t worry, Billie. I’m here. I’m not going to let you