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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Sunnyside Cul-de-Sac Rebel Motorcycle Club for Grandpas

T
he next morning
the circus performers helped Danya and Pia pack up and dropped them off at the Kissimmee train station.

“We really wish we could take you farther,” Penn said as Pia and Danya stepped off the bus. Her brown curls puffed up around her, making her head look several sizes larger than a normal head.

Penn had found the girls that morning, crouched down inside their costumes like turtles while Sancho burrowed under the canvas tent, shivering. After making them each eat a stack of the apple pumpkin pancakes Lion Tamer Eddie made on his camping stove, she helped them strip the reptile skins off, and she even gave them some new clothes to wear from the circus school costume closet. Pia wore a rhinestone-encrusted purple-and-pink spandex trapezist costume, and Danya was dressed in a pair of the smallest clown's polka-dot pants and rainbow-colored suspenders. As silly as the costume looked, Danya was just glad to be wearing something clean, that didn't have a tail.

The clowns had all gotten together and even managed to clean the mud off Sancho's fur by squirting him with water from the flowers attached to their jackets at the same time.

“You've helped so much already,” Danya said, adjusting the strap of her suspenders. “I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out.”

And she found she actually
meant
that. She'd felt so desperate and lost the night before, standing in the rain with Pia. But together they'd gotten through it. That made Danya feel like they could get through anything.

Pia and Danya waved as the circus bus pulled away. It was mid-afternoon now, but last night's rain still covered the ground and the train station benches, making the grass beneath their shoes all soggy. The summer sky was all pink and blue and hazy from the lifting fog.

The damp air seemed to have a good effect on Sancho. He galloped in circles around the station before stopping near a patch of dandelions. He snorted and pawed at the dirt, then lowered his head and started to munch on the weeds and flowers.

Pia shuffled over to the train station bench and sat down.

“What do you think we should . . .” she started, but before she could finish her sentence, the girls heard a rumble in the distance, like the roar of thunder. Danya lifted her arms to cover her head, worried it would start raining again. But the sky above was blue and empty of clouds.

“Danya, look!” Pia said, pointing to the road.

A dozen or so men on motorcycles appeared in the distance. They wore leather jackets and black sunglasses, and they had on helmets decorated with pictures of dragons and bones and what looked like flaming swords. The men rode closer, and the rumbling roar of their engines grew louder, making the ground beneath Danya and Pia tremble.

“That doesn't look good,” Danya said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the motorcycle engines. She sat down next to Pia and grabbed her hand. Even Sancho crouched behind the girls, shivering as the motorcycles came closer.

They won't stop here
, Danya thought.
They'll keep going. They won't even see us. . . .

But the men on the motorcycles didn't keep going. They slowed as they approached the train station, and like a flock of birds, they turned down the road together and pulled to a stop just a few feet from where Danya and Pia and Sancho huddled.

The man wearing the flaming sword helmet turned toward them and revved his engine. Then, placing one foot on the road to steady himself, he pulled the helmet off and put it under one arm.

Danya had to clench her lips together to keep her mouth from dropping open in shock. The man wasn't menacing at all—he was
old
. Wrinkles creased his face, and what little hair he had was pure, snowy white.

“Hi there, ladies,” he said, smacking his lips. He had big, blue eyes, and his face looked kind. “Don't mean to bother you, but we're just stopping for a snack break. My name is Hank.”

Once they'd all taken off their helmets, Danya realized none of the motorcyclists were terrifying. In fact, they were all pretty old—just like Hank. One had a long, hooked nose and droopy ears, and another had wild, bushy eyebrows that took up most of his forehead, and another had a
WORLD'S BEST GRANDPA
sticker on his helmet, covering up half a picture of a skull shooting lasers from its eye sockets. His motorcycle had a sidecar with a child's seat inside. All of the little old men, Danya noticed, had large, kind eyes and happy, crooked smiles.

The man with the crazy eyebrows wore a purple-and-yellow fanny pack strapped to his waist. “Who wants something to drink?” he said, pulling out a few juice boxes. “I have cran-apple and grape.”

All the other old men shuffled over to him and took a juice box. Neither Danya nor Pia asked for one, but one of the old men walked over to them anyway.

“The name's Max,” he said, handing each of the girls a juice box and giving them a gummy smile. Christmas had been months and months ago, but Max wore a reindeer sweater over his leather motorcycle pants. Rudolph's blinking red nose flashed on and off while he talked. “Now where are you ladies off to?”

Unable to look away from Max's sweater, Pia plucked the straw from her juice box and unwrapped it. “Where are
you
going?” she asked.

“Where
aren't
we going?” Max glanced at the other little old men and laughed. “You ladies are looking at the Sunnyside Cul-de-Sac Rebel Motorcycle Club.”

“For grandpas,” added the man with the
WORLD'S BEST GRANDPA
sticker on his helmet. He had dark skin and eyes, with a pair of tiny rectangular bifocals balanced on his nose. “My name's Dave. See, we're all retired, so we decided to ride cross-country on our bikes. We're meeting our grandchildren at Disney World.”

“For Christmas!” Max added, puffing out his chest proudly.

Pia turned to Danya and raised an eyebrow.

“
Half
Christmas,” Hank corrected. “We do it every year.”

“Didn't you hear them, Snap? They're going to
Orlando
.” To the grandpas Pia said, “We're going to Disney World, too.”

Danya frowned. She had a feeling she knew what Pia was trying to do, but she couldn't be serious. These men were on
motorcycles
! There was no way they could accept a ride from them. And besides, they seemed a bit goofy, and maybe a little senile. That was pretty good news as it meant Danya didn't have to worry they'd be recognized, but she wasn't sure how safe it was to get on the back of a motorcycle with them.

“Pia . . .” Danya said in a warning voice. “I don't think . . .”

Before she could finish, Max spoke up. “What's that now?” he said, holding a wrinkled hand up to his ear. “Did you ladies say you
work
at Disney World?”

Danya stared at Pia pointedly. Max couldn't even see that they were only eleven years old. He probably wouldn't be able to see stoplights, either, or road signs, or other cars.

“This isn't
safe
,” Danya hissed. Pia shrugged, slurping up some of her juice box.

“My grandmother is the same way, and I ride with her all the time,” she muttered.

Max frowned. “What's that, dearie?” he said. “My hearing's not what it used to be.”

“I said you're right,” Pia answered loudly. “We do work at Disney World. We're actors in the . . . um, Small World ride. Because we're so short, you know.”

Max nodded. There was a strange, faraway look in his eyes. “You know, I had a job once,” he said. “I worked at a shoe store. I polished all of the shoes.” He shook his head and glanced around the train station, frowning. “You probably won't be able to get a train from here. According to our maps, this hasn't been a working station for nearly ten years. But you could always ride with us.”

Danya sucked the remaining juice from her box, squeezing the cardboard to get every last drop. She glanced over her shoulder at Sancho, who was still nibbling on dandelions. Even if this wasn't totally insane, there was no way Sancho would fit on the back of a motorcycle.

But maybe . . . She glanced back at the motorcycle with the sidecar attached to it, thinking.

“Do you think we could fit our pony in there?” she asked Max. Max narrowed his eyes at Sancho.

“Oh, your little dog would definitely fit. My son had this car made special so my dogs could ride with me, you know. I have two mastiffs who love motorcycle rides, and your little dog is much smaller than either of them.”

Danya bit down on her lip to keep herself from correcting Max. He really
was
pretty confused. Sancho
was
smaller than a mastiff . . . but anyone could see he was a pony and not a dog! Still, Max had all these fancy harnesses and stuff—Sancho would probably be pretty safe.

“What do you think?” she whispered to Sancho. Sancho trotted over to the sidecar and flicked an ear—his way of saying, “Let's do it!” Grinning, Danya tickled him beneath the chin. He was getting so brave.

That's how Danya and Pia ended up on the backs of two motorcycles with Sancho strapped into the sidecar of a third. Since the Sunnyside Rebels were a grandpas' motorcycle club, they had special seat belts designed to keep the girls safe on their bikes.

Still, Danya kept her arms wrapped tightly around Max, not entirely able to convince herself that she wasn't going to fall off. They were going so fast, and the road was so bumpy, but Danya still managed to remain in her seat.

The grandpas slowed to take a sharp turn, driving up alongside a silver SUV. Danya stared through the windows, her eyes locking on a black-haired head in the front passenger seat. She faced away from the window, but Danya could just make out the edges of a red scarf sticking out at the figure's neck.

She held her breath, feeling cold all over. Short black hair—a red scarf! It was Violet, Danya was sure of it. She knew she should hide her face or duck down inside the motorcycle jacket Max had given her to wear so she wouldn't get cold. But all she could do was stare at the figure in the car, her heart thudding. She wrapped her arms tighter around Max, wishing he would drive faster.

The black-haired head turned to look out the window—and licked the glass with her big, pink tongue. It wasn't Violet at all. It was a black Lab wearing a red bandanna.

Danya exhaled, finally beginning to relax. She loosened her grip on Max and leaned back just a tiny bit to look around. Traveling by motorcycle wasn't a terrible way to go. The road and trees and grass flew past in a blur of colors and shapes, and the wind blew back her hair and filled her nose with the smells of the road and the outdoors and the lavender-scented laundry detergent Max used on his jean jacket. Every time the bike went a little faster or took a turn, Danya's heart leapt and she felt a rush of adrenaline.

They drove for over an hour, stopping only for bathroom breaks and a quick lunch of strawberry-banana-broccoli smoothies and granola bars. (All of the motorcyclists were on special diets to keep their cholesterol down.)

Eventually the sun dipped low in the sky and afternoon shadows stretched out across the highway. It was still hours till nightfall but, one by one, the motorcyclists began flipping on their headlights. The sun was still bright enough that you could barely see the white beams on the road.

“Safety first,” Max said to Danya over his shoulder. Danya nodded, and her stomach rumbled. She was not on a diet, and the smoothies and granola bars hadn't really filled her up. Luckily Max put on his turn signal, and the motorcyclists pulled into an old gas station.

While Max and the others stopped at the pumps to fill their bikes with gas, Danya and Pia ducked into the station with the last of their casino winnings. A teenage boy was reading a comic book at the register. Behind him was a television turned to some news channel.

“What do you think we should get?” Pia asked, poking at a bag of lime-flavored tortilla chips. “There aren't a lot of dinner things here.”

Danya considered the stacks of candy and chips. “We should probably get something kind of healthy,” she said eventually, pulling down a peanut butter candy bar and some real-fruit-flavored gummy bears. “That way we don't get sick or anything.”

Pia agreed, and the girls grabbed a few other things—corn chips and pretzels and cookies made with milk chocolate because Danya remembered her mom saying that milk made your bones grow strong.

They took their food up to the counter to pay. The teenager put his comic book down on the counter and started to ring it up.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked. Danya didn't answer. She stared at the television behind his head. The news program had been interrupted by an emergency broadcast. The words
MISSING CHILDREN
flashed across the bottom of the screen, and above them were four people Danya recognized. Her mouth dropped open, and she grabbed Pia's arm.