Small as an Elephant (15 page)

Jack woke as the only person in an otherwise empty church. Despite his sunburn, despite his now-obvious thirst and the lack of a blanket the previous night, he had slept soundly. And he’d dreamed. Dreamed he was riding high on an African elephant. He and the tusked elephant ambled through a lush green forest and then emerged into a field where a large crowd was waiting. In the back of the crowd

was a blond woman — smiling, running along, waving her arms.
It’s Mom,
Jack had thought while dreaming.
She’s come.
And then she’d faded. He closed his eyes and tried to recapture the dream, but it was gone.

Never mind. Today he was headed for York. He stood, stretched, and went down the narrow stairway to find a bathroom — and maybe food. On the opposite side of the church entry was a small office that smelled both musty and of polished wood. There was a desk, a small bookcase with a couple of worn Bibles on one shelf, and two folding chairs. On the corner of the desk was a jam jar holding a few dead marigolds, probably put there last Sunday. In the corner of the little office, Jack found a restroom no bigger than a closet.

One look in the filmy mirror made him realize he was very lucky not to have been seen last night. Anyone could tell from his red, dirt-streaked face that things were not what they should be. He used a bar of soap and some soggy mounds of toilet paper to give himself another sponge bath.

If only finding food was that easy. Jack walked to the back of the church, behind the pulpit, and cautiously opened a door. A modern room had been added on — a meeting area where people probably came for refreshments after church — and it had a little kitchenette. But all the cupboards held were paper goods, serving trays, and stuff for serving coffee: creamer, sugar cubes, stirring sticks. Jack popped a sugar cube into his mouth, pocketed a handful, and checked out the miniature refrigerator. One box of baking soda — that was it. He’d have to find another way to get food.

As Jack was leaving the church, he noticed a lost-and-found box on a bench near the door. Maybe there’d be a jacket inside. No such luck, but he did find a baseball cap that said
Searsport Vikings.
It was a little big, but that was good — it covered more of his face that way. This, he figured, was as good a disguise as anything. He pulled the baseball cap lower and continued walking.

Acorns lined the road, and for a while Jack concentrated on crushing them beneath his feet. He noticed that along this patch of highway, some of the trees’ leaves had started to turn red. He remembered the fall when he and his mother had collected leaves and ironed them between wax paper. He’d hung them in his bedroom windows until the wax paper yellowed and began to curl. For some reason, this memory caused his heart to form a fist, but then he reminded himself that he was too old to do that now anyway, and besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had that experience. He had.

And there were things other than leaves to look at on this road. There were a couple of places where flea markets were held; lots of antiques shops, with funky stuff like weather vanes and giant rocking horses out front; even a shop with mini lighthouses all over its lawn. As he popped sugar cubes into his mouth, he kept his eyes peeled for a vegetable garden, but so far, no luck.

Eventually, a sign welcomed him to Searsport, Maine. He wondered why a kid from this town would go to a church that was two hours away but then laughed. A distance that took two hours for him to walk would probably take less than ten minutes to drive. This sure was the slow way to York.

Jack was starving and needed to come up with a plan for finding food. He hadn’t noticed a single soda can on his walk that morning. But he wondered if he could risk turning in cans if he did manage to collect some. With his picture all over the evening news, it would be pretty chancy. And there was absolutely no way that he could approach a food pantry. Perhaps if he got off Main Street and headed down one of the side streets in town, he’d spot a garden.

The houses on the side street he chose were fairly close together — no gardens in sight. But he found himself walking behind three kids — kids he guessed to be about his age — on their way to school. They were wearing new jeans, new sneakers, and clean backpacks. It was definitely the first week of school.

Jack imagined Nina sitting in the front row (she always chose a desk in the front, if allowed) in Mr. Giovanni’s class at Curley. He wondered if she was still hanging out with the same friends as last year. It used to be just the two of them, until the other kids began to tease them about going steady, and they’d both found other kids to hang with during the day. It was fairly easy, since they were both pretty laid-back. And they never expected to be invited to other kids’ homes in the afternoons or on weekends — that’s when they hung out with each other. Or used to.

But now that Jack knew he couldn’t trust Nina, he doubted he’d ever hang out at her place again.

A brick school loomed ahead, and Jack paused on the sidewalk, wondering if this one, like Curley, had a free-breakfast program. If he simply walked into the cafeteria and grabbed a tray, would anyone question him? Probably. At home, he needed to provide a number — his school number — to get hot lunch.

“Are you new?”

Jack turned and saw a girl standing beside him. She was taller than him, with dark, curly hair and big blue eyes. She was wearing a long white T-shirt, leggings, and black leather boots, and she carried a messenger bag instead of a backpack. Older. She was definitely older than he was.

“N-no,” he stumbled.
What’s the best answer?
“No. I just remembered I forgot my homework, though.” He turned and ran back the way he’d come, hoping she bought it.

If only he
was
new. What he wouldn’t give to be back in school, with regular hours, a regular life. And food.

Back on Main Street, he turned right and found himself heading into the center of town. Rows of old brick buildings lined both sides of the street, which was busy with people bustling to and from their parked cars, many carrying coffee cups. A couple of men, one in a suit and another in a blue uniform, were waiting to use an ATM. Jack pulled his cap even lower as he passed them. He stood across from one group of shops, all connected like Legos, and read the signs:
THE GRASSHOPPER SHOP, LEFT BANK BOOKS, COASTAL COFFEE
. At the top of the Coastal Coffee sign, Jack read:
FREE INTERNET CAFÉ
.

What kind of miracle was this? Sure, libraries had computers, but libraries also had librarians who, wanting to be helpful and all, paid close attention to the comings and goings of kids. A coffee shop — now, that was probably different. A coffee shop would be used to tourists — people that no one had ever seen around before. And at this hour of the morning, a café would be busy, with people trying to get to work and to school on time. They’d hardly notice him.

With Internet access, he could get directions to the animal park, plan a route. And, even though he wouldn’t allow himself to check his YouPage — not until he’d seen Lydia — there was a small chance that reporters had tracked down his mother, had figured out her whereabouts. Maybe she was back in this country. He’d feel better knowing they were both in the same country again.

Jack climbed the steps of the coffee shop and went inside.

The walls and ceilings were painted periwinkle, Nina’s favorite color. Loads of people were seated at tables near the entrance — tables covered in plastic tablecloths with pictures of watermelons, apples, and cherries, he noticed, trying to keep his head down. Once, when he was little, Gram had spread a cloth like these out for a picnic. They had taken turns pretending to pick a piece of fruit and eat it right off the cloth. How he wished he could grab a bunch of cherries off the plastic right now.

In the back of the café was a display case that held pastries: doughnuts, éclairs, croissants, giant muffins. A yeasty bread smell, combined with the scent of coffee, nearly overtook him, and for a moment he imagined grabbing a chocolate croissant off a woman’s plate and bolting outside.

Instead, he looked around the side of the display case, toward the back of the shop, for a computer.

There wasn’t one. How could this be a free-Internet café and not have a computer? On the wall he saw a small handwritten sign:
WI-FI AREA
. Oh, so you could have free Internet
if
you brought your own laptop.
Figures!
All the excitement he’d felt only moments ago leached out of him.

“You’re him!” He turned at the loud whisper. It was the girl he’d met on the street — again standing so close, he could count the freckles on her nose. She’d been following him!

“You’re the missing kid,” she gasped.

Jack felt like a kid in a game of tag, about to be marked
it.
He couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think. He pivoted from his left foot to his right and then ran, squeezing past tables and through crowds and out of the shop.

“Hey!” he heard her yell from behind him.

Jack sprinted past the rest of the storefronts on the block and down a side street before he paused to look over his shoulder. The girl was following him, and man, was she fast! There were no other roads shooting off the one he was on, and if his sense of direction was correct, this street would soon end at the ocean. Then what? A dog barked loudly, discouraging him from cutting across the unknown backyards. Instead, he suddenly reversed direction, clipping the girl with as much force as he could as he raced back up the hill, to the center of town, and ducked into a bookstore on the corner. A bell over the door jingled.

It was a smaller store than Jack expected, and, even though he could see instantly that it had lots of little nooks and crannies for sitting and reading, he knew he couldn’t hide in there for long. Fortunately, the one and only customer in the store — a man who rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke — was trying to explain his needs to a woman behind the counter. Jack moved to a back corner of the store, which happened to be the children’s section, and sat for a moment in a small stuffed red chair to catch his breath.

He picked up a nearby graphic novel, hoping to look engrossed and be somewhat hidden if anyone else came into the store. He felt as if the girl’s shout and his tearing out of the coffee shop so quickly had alerted everyone to the fact that something unusual was happening in town.

And no doubt he’d made the girl mad when he’d clipped her. Come to think of it, that was pretty stupid. She’d probably gone straight to the police station to report her sighting.

The woman came out from behind the counter and led the man to some shelves at the front of the store. “We could put the display here,” she said.

Jack glanced around the bookshop for a rear exit. There was a curtained doorway in the back, but he doubted it led anywhere except to a closet-size office. But across from the counter was a partially open door — a heavy metal door. He decided to risk it. He could simply say he was confused if it led to a dead end.

Making as little noise as possible, he slipped through the open door and into . . . into what? What was this? There were boxes of books all around, but he was not in a typical storage room. Jack touched the walls — metal, too. He was in a . . . in a safe. Not a safe, a vault. The kind that he’d seen in a movie about notorious bank robbers. Why would there be a vault in a bookstore?

He read the label on one of the boxes:
Left Bank Books.
Maybe the store used to be a bank?

He was about to exit the vault when the light from outside was blocked. The girl from the café was standing three feet away, peering inside. He froze against the wall, hoping she wouldn’t notice him in the shadows.

“Hello?” she called hesitantly.

His breath caught. Could she see him?

“Mrs. Magillicutty?”

That must be the woman who was behind the counter when he came in. So she couldn’t see him! He wanted to exhale in relief, but he was afraid even the slightest movement would give him away.

As the girl continued to peer into the vault, Jack could hear the woman — Mrs. Magillicutty — at the front of the store.
Please go away,
Jack thought at the girl.
Please!

The girl poked her head back outside the vault. “Mrs. M., have you seen —?”

She was going to ask about him! And this would be the first place they’d look. He couldn’t let that happen!

Not knowing what else to do, Jack reached out, grabbed the girl’s wrist, and pulled her into the vault with him.

“Ouch!” the girl cried, and then opened her mouth to yell.

Quickly, Jack pulled the door of the vault shut.

“What’d you do that for?” the girl shouted. “We’re locked in here now, you know. And it’s no use yelling. The Morris twins did that for hours, but no one heard them.”

Jack couldn’t see the girl’s face in the dark, and so he stammered in her general direction. “Y-you were going to turn me in!”

“Of course I was going to turn you in. The whole state of Maine’s looking for you! Your poor grandmother is worried sick.”

He bristled at that but was glad she couldn’t see it. “I can’t let you turn me in,” he said.

“But why? What’d you
do
?” The girl pulled her cell phone out of her bag and flipped it open. “I’d better get reception in here. I have a test this afternoon.”

Jack couldn’t even remember a time when his biggest worry was some test at school. “I didn’t do anything.”

The girl looked up from the screen. “Then why’d you run away?”

Where would he even start? he wondered. Not that he was actually going to tell this girl anything.

“I can’t believe this. Not even a single bar!” She snapped her phone closed in frustration. “I wonder if Mrs. M. will hear us if we bang on the walls.”

The thought of being discovered sent Jack’s heart racing. “Couldn’t you just pretend you locked yourself in by accident? I mean, when she realizes there’s someone in here? I could hide in the shadows and slip out once the coast was clear.”