Chasing the Skip by Janci Patterson

to be mad about that. Stan was a skip—he probably didn’t know a lot of things about Dad’s life. But I still couldn’t help feeling like I hardly existed.
    Dad helped Stan off his stool and steered him toward the door. He looked over at me, jerking his head for me to follow, and Stan traced his gaze.
    “This is her?” he asked, walking over to me. “This is your little girl?”
    “I’m not so little,” I said.
    Dad shook his head at me, and Stan laughed again. “No, you aren’t, are you? You’re a right pretty little thing.”
    “Again with the little.”
    “Come on,” Dad said. “Let’s go.” The bartender nodded at Dad as we ambled outside to the truck.
    Dad didn’t say anything to criticize me about coming into the bar, probably because he didn’t want to seem weak in front of his skip. He stuck Stan in the back seat behind me, but he didn’t cuff him or chain his feet to the floor.
    After Dad loaded Stan into the truck, I walked him around to the driver’s side. If I explained myself before Dad brought it up, maybe I could head off the fight before it even started.
    “I didn’t mean to come in,” I said.
    “Did someone drag you.?”
    “Well, no. But there was this creepy guy knocking on my window, and I got scared.”
    Dad looked at me for a second. “All right, then. I’ll overlook it.”
    I climbed into my seat. Dad started the engine and drove the truck toward the freeway.
    “You can turn here,” Stan said as we passed a residential neighborhood. “My mom’s place is just down the street.”
    “I’m not taking you to your mother’s, Stan. You know that.”
    “Just thought I’d save you the trouble of the drive,” Stan said. “Drop me off, and I promise to stay out of trouble.”
    “You can’t stay out of something you’re already in. If you want to save me the trouble, you should show up in court when you’re supposed to.”
    “Damn dates. Can’t seem to remember ’em.”
    “Maybe you should get a date book.”
    “Had one. Lost it.”
    “A watch, then,” I said. “A fancy one that remembers appointments and beeps if you forget.”
    Stan laughed again. “Smart girl you’ve got, Max.”
    Dad rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it,” he said.
    I frowned at him. I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or not. I didn’t really get called smart a whole lot. Smart kids got As. I slid by with Cs. Besides, Mom said it was more important to be clever than smart.
    As we returned to the freeway, Stan talked nonstop about why Dad should just drop him off, and how he didn’t deserve to be in court anyway. He sold his point so hard, I wondered if Dad should have chained him, but when I looked over my shoulder I found Stan relaxed against the seat, grinning broadly.
    While Stan jabbered, Dad picked up his cell phone and punched some buttons. “Hang on, Stan,” Dad said, waving the phone. “I need to return a call.” He held the phone with his shoulder and handed me his clipboard. “Take notes for me, would you?”
    Dad took the phone from his ear, pushed another button, and then returned it. “Hey, Joe, this is Max. Do you have anything on those credit cards?”
    He threw the phone onto speaker so I could hear the voice on the other end.
    “Sure,” Joe said. “Someone tried to use the card a couple of hours ago, at the Ramada in North Platte.”
    Dad grinned wide.
    I wrote, Ramada. North Platte.
    “Thanks, Joe.”
    “Anytime, Max. Hey, give me a call next time you’re in town. We’ll catch a Rockies game or something.”
    “Will do. See you later.” Dad hung up the phone.
    “North Platte’s on our route back to Denver,” Dad said. “We can stop on the way.”
    “Where’re you taking me?” Stan asked.
    “Just to check on some business,” Dad said. “You don’t mind, do you, Stan?”
    “Oh, no,” Stan said. “In fact, I could ride with you for a bit longer than that if you want. ’Specially if we can stop at a 7-Eleven.”
    Dad rolled his eyes,