Chasing the Skip (14 page)

The car still smelled of Stan’s body odor and a faint tinge of beer. I opened my eyes, looking up at the sky. The raindrops thinned a bit, and I cracked my window. Better wet than stinky, anyway.

I jumped when I saw Ian’s face grinning at me through the driver’s-side window. I looked back at the house, but Dad was nowhere in sight. Ian reached for the door handle. Dad hadn’t locked his door, probably so he could run back to the car in a hurry if he needed.

Ian opened the door and rested a hand on it. He bent over, leaning into the car.

“Hey,” he said. “You ready for a ride?”

Stay in the car, I told myself. You promised. “You really waited for me?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Ian sat down in the driver’s seat. I expected him to beckon me out of the car, but instead he pulled out a key ring full of thin, key-shaped strips of metal. They looked like some kind of child’s toy—too thin to be real keys.

Ian shoved one in the ignition and shook it up and down.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Auto jigglers,” he said. “Give me a second.”

I looked back toward the house. The door was open, but Dad had disappeared inside.

This couldn’t be happening. I sat totally still in my seat. I’d sworn to Dad I would stay in the car. I just hadn’t expected Ian to steal it with me inside.

Ian pulled the first jiggler out of the lock and inserted another one.

“Where did you get those things?” I asked.

Ian grinned. “Why, you looking to get into the business?” He pulled the second key out and moved on to a third. As he shook it, the ignition popped, and the engine turned over.

“Nice,” Ian said. He revved the engine and threw the car in gear.

This was happening. This was real. I glanced back at the house in time to see Dad running down the front steps.

Ian didn’t wait for me to say anything. He just slammed the door. Hearing the noise, Dad looked up, and his jaw actually dropped. Ian gave him a little wave and then gunned it down the street at top speed.

I watched out the window as Dad raced for the truck, and then Ian skidded around a corner, headed for the highway.

“This is no good,” I said. “He’s totally going to catch us.”

Ian grinned, running a hand through his hair. “He’ll have to find his brake pads first.”

“His
brake pads
?” I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my knees. “Aren’t those important?”

“Chill out.”

“No, seriously. He could get in an accident.”

Ian shook his head. “Nah. The car will still
stop
. It’ll just eat into the rotors on the way. Might take him a while to fix.”

That didn’t sound nearly as bad, but I still worried. I’d done exactly what Dad asked me to, but everything still went wrong—like when I’d followed Stan into the bar.

But this was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Now I’d get to see if Dad would really follow—if he’d really worry about me when I wasn’t right there with him.

“You okay?” Ian asked.

“What?”

“You just seem unsure. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No,” I said, even though I was. My nails ran in grooves over the armrest. What if Dad didn’t find us? Could I really track Mom down in San Diego? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure.

“I guess you can add vandalism to your list of crimes,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Ian just laughed. He was driving so fast toward the freeway exit that I was sure a cop would pull us over, but apparently there weren’t any nearby. We broke out onto the freeway, doing eighty up the on-ramp.

“Maybe you should slow down,” I said.

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Ian asked. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?” He gave me a sidelong glance.

The speedometer needle descended down the right side of the dial.

“You know, my dad says this is how stolen cars get found.”

“Huh?”

“Speeding. Dad says cops don’t spend a lot of time looking for stolen cars, so usually they get found when the driver breaks the law.”

Ian looked at the speed gauge and slowed down about ten miles per hour. “Good tip,” he said. “You’re a smart girl. We make a good team.”

“Sure,” I said.

Ian glanced over at my arm, which was still fidgeting with the armrest. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

His lips tightened into a line. “No, you’re not. It’s cool if you’ve changed your mind. You want me to drop you somewhere?”

My heart thudded. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. What? Did you think I was going to hold you for ransom or something?”

“Of course not.”

“Look, if you want, I can drop you off and you can call your dad. The cell phone’s in the truck.”

I leaned back in my seat, trying to relax. I wasn’t stuck here. I could stop and call Dad at any time. I still had his business card in my wallet, but I also had the addresses of those D. Longwells in San Diego. I had choices.

And if we stopped now, I’d never know how far Dad would follow me.

“No,” I said. “Keep driving.”

“All right,” Ian said. “Where to?”

“You’re still going to help me find my mom, right?”

“Sure, if you still want to find her. I’d say good riddance, if I were you.”

“Quit talking me out of it.”

“I just want you to be sure. San Diego’s a big city, you know.”

“I know the name of the guy she’s with. I’ve got some addresses we can try.”

“That’s a start.”

That’s when I thought past the driving part. What if Dad didn’t catch us right away? He’d fall behind if he couldn’t drive the truck. Where were we going to stay on the way? Could we drive straight through to California? What if Mom hadn’t gone to see Denis at all? Was I going to end up living with Ian—like, in an apartment—or sleeping with him in the car?

“Um, do you know anyone in San Diego we can stay with?” I asked. “In case it takes a while to find her?”

Ian laughed. “We’ll meet some people. Don’t worry.”

But I did worry. I’d made a promise to Dad that I’d stay in the car, which I’d done. But we both knew that promise was a promise to stay out of trouble, which was the opposite of what I’d done. Even if Dad did chase me, he might never trust me again. I could end up in foster care. Or juvie. I could end up a skip like Ian.

“Why are you running away, anyway?” I asked. “Don’t all the charges you’re racking up amount to more than you’d get just turning yourself in? The sentence for stealing one car can’t be that bad.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“What?”

“Twenty-nine cars.”

I gaped at him. “Why would you steal twenty-nine cars?”

“You know how much a car is worth?”

“Depends on the car,” I said. “So you were selling them?”

“Didn’t say I was selling them. I was
charged
with selling them. The cops thought there was this whole crime-ring thing.”

“Well, was there?” I looked out the window at the blur of wet concrete, trying to loosen the knots in my shoulders.

Ian stepped on the gas again. “Screw it,” he said. “If we go that slow, bounty man’ll catch us.”

“Hey, maybe we should get off the road for a while,” I said. The car was speeding us toward California every minute, and if we pulled over for a while, I’d have time to think. If I wanted Dad to find me, I needed to give him the chance.

“You sure? We should probably put more distance between us and the man.”

“Dad says people who make beelines down main highways are supereasy to catch.” Dad never said any such thing, but it seemed like it might be true. “It’d be harder to find us if we pulled off on one of these farm roads for a while and then drove when he doesn’t expect us to be here.”

“All right.” Ian watched for the next side off-ramp and then pulled down a side road. He drove alongside a field, then parked and climbed out of the car. I followed. The sky was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the ground damp. I took a deep breath, taking in the smell of fresh rain and wet dirt, following Ian along the fence that bordered the field.

“Do you think you can see the car from the road?” he asked.

I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t want to walk back to the road to check. “We’re probably safe,” I said.

Ian hopped up onto the fence and swung his legs over, facing the field.

“So what’s your mom doing in San Diego?” he asked.

“I think she’s staying with some guy she met online.”

“So she left you with your dad to chase after this guy?”

“No,” I said. “She left me with my grandma, but Grandma called Dad.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Nah,” Ian said. “They weren’t teaching me anything important anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess schools don’t teach you how to steal cars.”

“It’s not like I was planning to do that forever, you know.”

“So you admit to it, then.”

Ian just smiled, looking out at the field. Whatever grew here had already been harvested; all that was left was a piece of rusted watering equipment and row after row of broken soil.

Now that we weren’t in a car, moving ever farther away from Dad, I started to relax.

“What are you going to do next?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Whatever comes along. That’s the beauty of this life. You take the chances that come to you. Maybe I’ll buy a car dealership.” He waved at the field. “Maybe I’ll be a farmer.”

I sincerely doubted Ian had the money to buy a dealership. “You want to be a farmer?”

“Maybe I do and I just don’t know it yet.”

I looked over the field. This was somebody’s life, I guess. “What do you think they were growing?” I asked.

“Maybe weed.”

I laughed. “In a field like this? They’d get caught.”

“You’re right. Probably something boring like radishes, then.”

“You’d grow weed, in your field.”

“Maybe not in a field. Maybe in a closet. I could look into grow lights.” He raised his eyebrows at me, and I tried to decide if he was joking.

Sitting this close, I could see little flecks of green in his eyes, spread outward in tiny spirals. “Thanks for offering to help me find my mom. That’s more than my dad would do.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t sit around waiting for them to get it together. You’ve got to take charge of your life.”

I’d taken charge all right. Taken charge right into the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. “I think I’m bad at it,” I said.

Ian laughed. “Yeah, well, no one’s perfect. Keep trying. You’ll get it right.”

That was ironic, coming from a fugitive. “Have you gotten it right yet?”

“Hell no. But I will. And so will you.”

I still wasn’t convinced that was true, but it was nice of him to say it. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem.” Ian ducked his head a little, bringing it closer to mine. “So, are we still going to San Diego, or should I drop you somewhere else?”

“Do you really want to go with me to California?”

Ian shrugged. “California’s probably the same as every damn place.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Ian lifted his arm, and I slipped under it, letting him rest it on my shoulders. His spicy smell mixed with the scent of dirt and rain, until the breeze picked up and blew it away.

Ian inclined his face toward mine, and I raised my chin slightly, until his nose brushed up against mine. Just a few more inches. Just a bend of his neck. Just a lift of my chin.

Ian’s head snapped up as an unfamiliar car turned down the piece of road behind our rental, tires crunching in the gravel. The car didn’t even stop fully before Dad jumped out and stood there, gun pointed straight at Ian. Straight at me.

Outside Des Moines, Iowa.

Days since Mom left: 32.

Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 1053.5 miles.

14

I froze, staring at Dad’s gun. His face was expressionless.

“Step away from her,” Dad said. “Ricki, get in the car.”

A cold wave washed through me. He
was
worried about me.

“I mean it, Ricki. Get in the car
now
.”

I looked at the unfamiliar car and then at the rental. “Which one?” I asked.

“The Camry.” He glared at Ian. “Step away from her, hands in the air.”

Ian’s face hardened, but he raised his arm from my shoulder and kicked off the fence and into the field, his feet sinking a little in the dirt. It wasn’t until then that I realized he’d left his arm there when he saw Dad—hadn’t pulled it away or anything. Like he was daring Dad to do something about it.

I scrambled off the fence in the other direction and stepped over to the unfamiliar car, double checking to make sure it actually was the Camry.

“Drop the keys,” Dad said to Ian.

Ian spit in Dad’s direction.

“Hands behind your head,” Dad barked. He popped the trunk of the rental and pulled out a pair of cuffs, sticking them on Ian and hauling him over to the car. He glared at me through the window, and I looked away, staring at the dash.

After Dad had secured Ian in the back seat, he climbed in on the driver’s side, not even looking at me.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I said.

“Not now,” he said back.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. His tone was so clipped, he might be pissed enough to put me in foster care. A lot of good it did to know he’d chase me, if running this time was the final blow that made him give up on me.

“I did stay in the car,” I said. “Like I promised.”

“Yeah, you did exactly what you said. Very clever.”

I felt like sinking right through the seat. He knew we’d planned this. The promise I made hadn’t been part of the plan, but I couldn’t convince Dad of that. “But—”

“Ricki, shut up,” Dad said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

We settled into silence. Raindrops slapped against the windshield again, and Dad stepped on the accelerator, driving the Camry back to Des Moines.

*   *   *

It turned out the Camry belonged to Ian’s sister. Dad had borrowed her car after he busted his brakes.

After we got back to Ian’s sister’s place, she came with us to pick up the rental, since we had to leave it by the field. Dad offered to let her drive her own car, but instead she climbed into the back seat, plunking herself down next to Ian.