Dead Ends (31 page)

Nope. Nada.

The man finally got into his car, and I saw his hand stick up out of the window to wave at his family—
his
family—not mine.

“He's leaving,” Seely said, stating the obvious.

“Let him leave.”

Seely studied my face. “You sure? You want to come back later or someth—”

“No.”

Well, not “no,” exactly, but just not later that day—maybe
later
later, like years from then later—or maybe not ever.

The guy looked nice enough with his little family. He definitely didn't look like someone who hit his kids, but then again, who can tell? Still, I felt relieved for some reason. He just looked like a guy who maybe made a mistake in high school that he couldn't deal with, because he was probably too weak. I knew right then who I'd gotten my strength from—who I'd gotten
everything
from—and it wasn't him.

“I don't know that guy,” I told Seely as we watched the car pull out of the driveway and roll away.

“Well, he's obviously your dad,” she said.

“No,” I said. “He's somebody else's dad.”

“Dane—”

“Whoever he is,” I cut her off, “he's not worth getting kicked out of school for.”

I pointed at the clock on the dash.

Seely jumped at the time and put the car in gear. As mixed up as I was feeling about Billy and the man in the suit and everything that had happened over the last few months, I still managed a smile when I rolled down the window and felt the sun on my face, the wind rushing by, and the wheels rolling under the Cadillac.

I could tell my smile was making Seely nervous, like she thought I was about to crack up on her or something, and she was hesitant to leave my side when we got to school.

I promised her I'd meet her back at the Caddy later for a ride home and shooed her off to class. I jogged down the hallway toward my own first period, focused on getting into my seat before the bell, but something pulled me up short.

I stopped and turned to look back at the scene. Two familiar faces were the only ones left in the hall as kids cleared out: one of the potheads who had picked on Billy had Jimmy Miller by the collar—pressed up against a locker in a way that looked painful. Jimmy was on his toes, his face red from the choke hold. I recognized the panic in his eyes. I'd put it there myself once.

“Hey!” I called.

Both boys' heads spun in my direction.

“Is there a problem here?” I sauntered toward them casually, like I wasn't at all in danger of being late for class and getting the detention that would be the final nail in my educational coffin.

“No problem,” the pothead sneered. “Just settling something.”

He looked at me with this glint in his eye, like we were kindred spirits or something. I wanted to spit in that eye, extinguish the flame there.

I waited for the itch, but it didn't come. I felt more in control somehow—my hands calm at my sides instead of tingly and tense.

“I think you've settled it,” I said.

The pothead made a face. “I'll say when it's settled.” He tightened his grip on Jimmy's collar, making him actually gasp for breath.

I pulled myself up to my full height and set my jaw in a way I knew was intimidating. Then I got right up inside the pothead's personal space and growled in his ear.

“And
I say
… it
is
settled. So you can let go now, or you and me can settle it later.”

The pothead shriveled, letting go of Jimmy and backing out from under me. “Hey, I don't got any problems with you, man.”

“You don't if you walk away right now, you mean,” I said.

“Sure.” He held his hands up and kept walking backward. “Yeah. No problems.”

A few steps later, he spun on his heel and ran the rest of the way down the hall.

Jimmy slumped against the locker and rubbed his sore neck.

“What'd you do that for?” he asked.

“Just making things square,” I said.

I started to walk away, but Jimmy stopped me.

“Well, uh, thanks. I guess I … I guess I owe you one.”

Still moving down the hall, I looked over my shoulder.

“No, I owed
you
one. But now we're even.”

The bell started to ring—a thirty-second warning to get to class.

“Trust me,” I called back to Jimmy. “I don't do favors.”

For a book about two boys who walk alone until they find each other … it sure did take a whole crowd of people to get them here!

My first thanks go to my first readers—Michael Lange, whose professional expertise was invaluable to this novel, and Holly Lange, who loves these characters even more than I do. You are the only people to suffer through Every. Single. Draft. And you just happen to be the best parents a girl could ask for.

It took one month to write this book. And then it took one
year
to
re
write it, with the help of Gemma Cooper and Kelly Thompson. Endless thanks to you both. I treasure your talent and your friendship. And a special thank-you to Marie Saavedra, who provided the kind of insight that can only come from personal experience.

Thank you, editor extraordinaire, Caroline Abbey, for once again seeing what was missing. The best scenes in this book are there because of you.

Thank you, always, to my agent, Jennifer Laughran, for loving this story, for letting me write what I want, and for being my shepherd on this wild journey.

Thanks, Tony Sahara, for the amazing cover artwork. Thank you, Michelle Nagler, Alexa Pastor, Christine Ma, Patricia McHugh, Alexei Esikoff, Katy Hershberger, and everyone at Bloomsbury.

Finally, and above all, thanks to my family and friends. You blow me away with your support and encouragement—especially Matt Helm, who deserves all the credit but never wants to take any. I love each and every one of you.

Butter

Copyright © 2013 by Erin Jade Lange

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

First published in the United States of America in September 2013
by Bloomsbury Children's Books
www.bloomsbury.com

This electronic edition published in September 2013

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury Children's Books, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lange, Erin Jade.
Dead ends / by Erin Jade Lange.
pages cm
Summary: When Dane, a bully, refuses to hit Billy D. because he has Down syndrome, Billy takes that as a sign of friendship and enlists Dane's help in solving riddles left in an atlas by his missing father, sending the pair on a risky adventure.
[1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Down syndrome—Fiction. 3. People with mental disabilities—Fiction. 4. Bullies—Fiction. 5. Single-parent families—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7. Schools—Fiction. 8. Riddles—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L26113De 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2013009593

eISBN: 978-1-6196-3081-9

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