The Wild Kid Read Free

high wooden sides was pulled over on the edge of the road. The engine heaved and coughed, the sides shook, and smoke came out the back. The driver was nearby at a food stand. Sammy waited for him next to the truck. He was going to ask for a ride, but when the man came over he had such a mean look, Sammy turned away.
    When the truck started to move, Sammy grabbed on to the side and climbed in the back. Loose pieces of lumber bounced on the floor. Sammy knelt by the tailgate, watching out for the tire tracks. The truck went fast, and he was cheering. Pretty soon he’d catch up to the stealer.
    As the truck picked up speed, it was harder for Sammy to see the tracks. Sometimes he saw them, sometimes he just thought he saw them. Then he didn’t see them at all. He waited for them to appear again. He waited a long time, and then he banged on the roof of the cab.
    The truck stopped with a jolt, and Sammy tumbled forward. The driver saw him through the window and yelled. He had little red eyes. He came running around the side of the truck.
    Sammy jumped up on top of the cab. Quick. And then slid down on the hood and off the truck.
    â€œHey, you, I’ll break your neck!” The man had a stick in his hand.
    Sammy ducked under a guardrail and tumbled down a steep incline. He couldn’t stop himself. He crashed into a thicket and lay there, breathing hard. Then he got up and ran again. If the man caught him, he’d arrest him and put him in jail. He banged into a tree. His mouth was open, chest heaving. He ran on. He kept going, deeper into the woods.

4

    Sammy ran on. He fell and got up and ran again. His sneakers were dirty, and his pants had mud on them. When he got home, his mother would tell him to take off all his clothes and take a nice hot bath.
    A plane flew over. Sammy heard it and then he saw it. He waved as hard as he could, but the trees were in the way. He remembered the time Carl took him for an airplane ride—just him, not Bethan—and how, as they went higher, everything got smaller and smaller. Tiny houses. Tiny cars. He kept looking for his house.
    He leaned against a big tree, pressing his body into it. He felt the tree move, breathing the way he was breathing. It sighed, talking to him, telling him not to worry. His mom worried all the time. “Don’t worry, Mom. Worrie-eee…” He sang the word under his breath. Worry Mom. Everything was a worry. “What are you going to wear this morning, Sammy? Did you get dressed yet? Hop-a-long, cowboy! Did you brush your teeth, honey? Cheerios for breakfast again, don’t you want something different? Don’t put so much milk in, you’ll have a stomachache. Take that sweater off and put on a clean one. Hurry, you’ll be late for the school bus.”
    He found a path. Then he found another path. Then he was all mixed up. Every way, there were trees, trees, trees. He was sick of trees. He wanted to see houses and cars and stores. He wanted his mother and his sister. He even wanted Carl. The time was four thirty-one. He’d better go home fast. His mother would be calling, “Sammy, supper time.”
    Was he lost? Don’t say lost. Lost was bad. He was turned around, was all. Like being spun around in a game and getting all dizzy and mixed up. He just needed to be pointed in the right direction.
    Suddenly a bunch of noisy birds flew through the trees. He followed them. They were fast, but then they stopped and yelled at him. Right where he stopped, there were wooden cleats on the tree. He climbed up to a platform and sat there. This was his tree house, where he could stay till someone came for him.
    It was raining again. Just a little at first. It was still dry against the trunk. But then it rained harder, and the air was full of wetness. His knees got wet, and his head and the whole platform got wet. Everything was wet; his face was wet all over.
    He climbed down and buried into a dark tangle of trees. Rough,