skip.
“I’ll be going now,” Stan said, rising in his seat. His shoulders hunched over against the ceiling.
“I’d really like you to stay,” I said. “This neighborhood scares me.” I looked around. We were in a pretty nice section of town—no reason to be scared here.
Instead of arguing with me, Stan rolled over the back of Dad’s seat and landed on the bench on his hands and knees. He pushed open Dad’s door, almost nicking the mirror of a passing car. The car honked and sped off down the road, but Stan climbed out into the street anyway without looking. I cringed, expecting the next car to run him right over, but instead he shut the truck door again and disappeared behind the trailer.
“Hey, where are you going?” I asked. “My dad’s going to be mad.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be right back.”
I sighed. Dad couldn’t possibly expect me to wrestle Stan into the back seat.
I leaned out the window, watching Stan as he ambled toward a strip mall across the street. At the end, next to an aquarium store, sat a dimly lit bar. No big surprise there. Still, the contrast of Stan’s dim form against the neon liquor lights looked sad. I wondered how he came to be this way, wandering around, happy to be at a bar and not really aware of anything else in his life. Dad might be half a loser, but seeing a whole loser really put things in perspective.
I sighed as Stan swung the door open and stepped inside. Most I could do now was try to coax him back before Dad returned to find us both gone.
I grabbed Dad’s clipboard and scribbled him a note with an arrow pointing toward the bar, and then opened the door and hopped out of the truck.
This bar had more people in it, probably because it was nearing evening. A wiry guy in one of the booths looked up at me. He was wearing a camo shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal a network of spider-web tattoos running up the inside of his arms. He flashed me a crooked smile. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, “can I buy you a drink?”
I walked quickly away from the booth. Mom said that it was better to ignore creeps when they tried to hit on you, because actually talking to them just gave them the attention they wanted.
Stan had already settled himself on a stool.
This room had the same smell as the last bar—the reek of bodies mixed with the tang of alcohol. I knew Mom went to bars sometimes, but now, having been in two in one day, I couldn’t imagine the appeal.
“Hey,” I said. “Why don’t you get a drink and bring it back to the car?”
“Nah,” Stan said. “Half the fun is sitting and talking. Why don’t you take a seat?”
I could see the bartender wiping down the other end of the bar, already giving me the evil eye.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to be in here.”
“You’re a pretty girl. You can flirt your way in.” Stan gave me a big grin, so I thought he might be joking, but I didn’t know him well enough to be sure.
The bartender walked over to us. “You lost?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. “I’m here for him.” I pointed at Stan.
“She’s my bounty hunter’s daughter,” Stan said. “Could you get us each a drink?”
The bartender raised his eyebrows at the news that Stan had himself a bounty hunter, but he didn’t comment. “I’ll need to see some ID first,” he said, looking at me.
I could flash my fake ID. Dad would love that.
The only ID I had besides that was my high school card, which had SOPHOMORE embossed across the top in big blue letters.
“We both need to be getting back to the car,” I said, tugging on Stan’s sleeve. I hoped he wouldn’t take that as permission to touch me.
“My bounty hunter will be looking for me, I expect,” he said to the bartender. “Can you get me a beer to go?”
“I’m not serving anyone until I see some ID.” He was still looking at me, which was kind of funny, since Stan was the one who’d ordered the beer.
Stan waved at the door. “All right, honey.
“I’ll be going now,” Stan said, rising in his seat. His shoulders hunched over against the ceiling.
“I’d really like you to stay,” I said. “This neighborhood scares me.” I looked around. We were in a pretty nice section of town—no reason to be scared here.
Instead of arguing with me, Stan rolled over the back of Dad’s seat and landed on the bench on his hands and knees. He pushed open Dad’s door, almost nicking the mirror of a passing car. The car honked and sped off down the road, but Stan climbed out into the street anyway without looking. I cringed, expecting the next car to run him right over, but instead he shut the truck door again and disappeared behind the trailer.
“Hey, where are you going?” I asked. “My dad’s going to be mad.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be right back.”
I sighed. Dad couldn’t possibly expect me to wrestle Stan into the back seat.
I leaned out the window, watching Stan as he ambled toward a strip mall across the street. At the end, next to an aquarium store, sat a dimly lit bar. No big surprise there. Still, the contrast of Stan’s dim form against the neon liquor lights looked sad. I wondered how he came to be this way, wandering around, happy to be at a bar and not really aware of anything else in his life. Dad might be half a loser, but seeing a whole loser really put things in perspective.
I sighed as Stan swung the door open and stepped inside. Most I could do now was try to coax him back before Dad returned to find us both gone.
I grabbed Dad’s clipboard and scribbled him a note with an arrow pointing toward the bar, and then opened the door and hopped out of the truck.
This bar had more people in it, probably because it was nearing evening. A wiry guy in one of the booths looked up at me. He was wearing a camo shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal a network of spider-web tattoos running up the inside of his arms. He flashed me a crooked smile. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, “can I buy you a drink?”
I walked quickly away from the booth. Mom said that it was better to ignore creeps when they tried to hit on you, because actually talking to them just gave them the attention they wanted.
Stan had already settled himself on a stool.
This room had the same smell as the last bar—the reek of bodies mixed with the tang of alcohol. I knew Mom went to bars sometimes, but now, having been in two in one day, I couldn’t imagine the appeal.
“Hey,” I said. “Why don’t you get a drink and bring it back to the car?”
“Nah,” Stan said. “Half the fun is sitting and talking. Why don’t you take a seat?”
I could see the bartender wiping down the other end of the bar, already giving me the evil eye.
“I don’t think I’m allowed to be in here.”
“You’re a pretty girl. You can flirt your way in.” Stan gave me a big grin, so I thought he might be joking, but I didn’t know him well enough to be sure.
The bartender walked over to us. “You lost?” he asked me.
“No,” I said. “I’m here for him.” I pointed at Stan.
“She’s my bounty hunter’s daughter,” Stan said. “Could you get us each a drink?”
The bartender raised his eyebrows at the news that Stan had himself a bounty hunter, but he didn’t comment. “I’ll need to see some ID first,” he said, looking at me.
I could flash my fake ID. Dad would love that.
The only ID I had besides that was my high school card, which had SOPHOMORE embossed across the top in big blue letters.
“We both need to be getting back to the car,” I said, tugging on Stan’s sleeve. I hoped he wouldn’t take that as permission to touch me.
“My bounty hunter will be looking for me, I expect,” he said to the bartender. “Can you get me a beer to go?”
“I’m not serving anyone until I see some ID.” He was still looking at me, which was kind of funny, since Stan was the one who’d ordered the beer.
Stan waved at the door. “All right, honey.
Similar Books
