Runaway Twin by Peg Kehret Page B

trouble for driving you into a different state, even if you’ve asked me to do it.”
    I got out and walked past the sign while Charley pulled the cab ahead, into Wyoming. Then I climbed back in, we drove on, and I soon fell asleep.
    I jerked awake when the cab stopped. We were parked at a highway rest area.
    â€œSorry to wake you,” Charley said, “but this is the last rest area for a while.”
    I looked at my watch. Twelve-thirty. I had slept for more than an hour! “That’s okay,” I said. “I need to stretch.”
    While Charley was in the restroom, I snapped the leash on Snickers and led him to the dog-walk area. Then Charley held the leash while I took my turn in the restroom.
    â€œI used to have a dog,” Charley said as we pulled back onto the road. “A mutt named Freddie. He was a good dog.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?”
    â€œHe lives with my ex-wife. She got him when we divorced. We didn’t have any kids, so we had a custody battle over the dog. She won.”
    â€œDo you ever see him?”
    â€œNo. She took him along when she moved back to Iowa, where she was from. I miss him a lot. More than I miss my ex-wife.”
    â€œWhy don’t you get another dog?” I asked.
    â€œI will, someday. Right now I’m still missing Freddie.”
    I understood. A Hiss caseworker had once asked me why I was sad, and I told her I missed my friend Jessie. I’d left Jessie behind when I moved to a new foster home and I missed playing with her.
    Using her cheerful kindergarten-teacher voice, Ms. Hiss had said, “You can make a new friend. Then you won’t miss Jessie.”
    I had glared at her. A new friend would be nice, and I might make one, but that person wouldn’t stop me from missing Jessie. The new friend would not know the secret code that Jessie and I had made up. She wouldn’t call me Sunnysideup, or let me sleep with her stuffed elephant when I stayed at her house overnight. I felt like saying, “People are not interchangeable. If you lose one friend, you can’t just substitute somebody else. It doesn’t work that way.”
    I didn’t say anything, though. If Ms. Hiss had to be told how friendship works, she wouldn’t have understood what I was talking about.

    The taxi approached a small town, and Charley asked if I was hungry. “There’s a deli ahead,” he said. “Might be a good time for some sandwiches.”
    We left Snickers in the cab while we went in, but we got our food to go so we could eat with him. Even with the windows rolled partway down, it was too warm to leave him in the vehicle. As promised, I paid for lunch.
    I ordered a plain ham and cheese, no mayo, no oil and vinegar, for Snickers.
    â€œDo you always feed your dog people food?” Charley asked.
    â€œOnly when we’re traveling. It’s easier than trying to carry dog food along.”
    Charley moved the cab to a shady spot, and we opened the doors while we ate.
    I had just finished my sandwich when Charley asked, “Are you running away?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œI don’t believe you,” he said. “I’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    â€œThen why do you care?”
    Charley shrugged. “I like you. You seem like a good kid, and you’re nice to Snickers. People who are kind to animals can usually be trusted. I don’t want to see you making a mistake.”
    â€œI’m going to see my sister,” I said, then instantly regretted saying it.
    â€œShe lives in Enumclaw?”
    â€œLook, Charley, I like you, too. It’s real nice of you to take Snickers as a passenger and to drive so far knowing you’ll just have to turn around and drive back by yourself. It’s nice of you to worry about me, too, but I really don’t want to get into a discussion about where I’m going. Okay?”
    â€œOkay.”