The Miles Between (10 page)

“Yes!” Mira adds. “A cross between a Lambshire terrier and a poodle.”

Baaaa!

“Lucky, stop barking,” Aidan admonishes him. “He does that when he wants to play ball. You have a ball?”

The deputy's eyes narrow. He pushes his hat farther back on his head and rubs the side of his face with his free hand. “A lambadoodle,” he repeats.

“That's right,” I say. “They're all the rage in Paris.”

Mira leans closer to the deputy. “Very expensive,” she whispers, rolling her eyes. “Ooh-la-la!”

“Thousands,” I add. “But you can pet him, if you like.”

He is silent, carefully eyeing Lucky. He takes a step to one side and then the other, checking Lucky out from all vantage points. He pinches his chin.

“Just make sure you clean up after your
dog
,” he finally says.

“Yes, sir!” Seth and Mira spout at the same time.

The deputy reluctantly reaches out and touches Lucky's head.

Baaaa!

He walks past us, shaking his head. I hear him mumble under his breath, but the only word I catch is
Paris
.

We wait until we are half a block away, walking as straight as wooden soldiers, before any of us say anything. Aidan stiffly turns around and looks behind us. “All clear,” he tells us, and we let loose with riotous laughter.

“Never in a million years did I think he would buy that,” Aidan says.

“Me either!”

Mira pats Lucky's head. “But Lucky was behaving himself. It's only fair!”

“Great performance, Lucky,” Seth says. “You were right, Des. Why put doubts in his head?”

So I am finally right about something. It is good to hear. Especially from Seth. “Let's go get our dog a ball.” Kicking one foot out in front of me, I add, “And some shoes that don't remind me we are Hedgebrook escapees.”

“Field trip,” Aidan says. “It's only an unauthorized field trip.”

“Right. A field trip,” I answer. No need to put doubts in Aidan's head either.

 

 

 

W
E WALK IN SEARCH
of a shoe store. Mira asks me for the hundredth time if I am sure that I want to spend my money on shoes for the rest of them. I am tempted to tell her it is not my money at all just to quiet her, but then I might have to explain even more, like the car that is not truly mine. I know that might bring the day to a bitter halt. I am not ready for that. “I'm sure, Mira,” I tell her. She thanks me for the hundredth time. I want to punch her, but I refrain.

“I could really go for a hot dog,” Aidan says.

Seth laughs. “You? What about all those fillers you complain about at Hedgebrook?”

“I'm already going to get chewed up and spit out for our little escapade today. Might as well live dangerously with the time I have left.”

“That's you. Danger boy,” Mira says, and giggles. But the way she says it, it sounds more like a compliment than a dig, and I wonder if that is how Aidan takes it.

We reach our first cross street, and just around the corner is a street vendor. His large white cart is topped with a red-striped umbrella and is loaded with relishes and mustard and ketchup. And, of course, plenty of hot dogs.

“Aren't you amazingly lucky?” I say.

Aidan nods vigorously. “I smelled them way off. Thought I'd play with your mind.”

“Liar,” Seth whispers.

Aidan is silent, like he didn't hear Seth.

I smile. I would have accepted, even believed, Aidan's explanation if Seth hadn't commented. I hand Aidan a bill from my pocket. How much have we spent? But I have more than enough to pay back whatever we have borrowed from the glove box—and then some. Mr. Gardian is always timely and generous with my allowances. I credit him for that because it is not something Mother and Father would remember.

“Get one for us all,” I tell him.

“And soda too,” Seth adds.

“It's not even lunchtime yet,” Mira reminds us.

“We're living dangerously, remember?” Seth says.

“Then we really should have dessert first,” she replies.

Aidan pays for four hot dogs, and we load them with condiments. I have never eaten with classmates before except across from them at a table at Hedgebrook, where there is predictable space and routine. I watch Aidan. Three pumps of ketchup. One of mustard. Two heaping spoonfuls of relish. He looks at Mira and then back at the onions. He hesitates, then passes on the onions. Mira mimics him from pump to spoonful, to dutifully passing on the offending vegetable. Seth only adds one artistically squiggled line of mustard down the middle. He doesn't hesitate at the onions, adding three spoonfuls.

It is not just the new setting that makes this eating experience different from Hedgebrook. The structure that holds us together is not school but one of our own making. Even the air feels different. I notice every distance between us—or the lack of it. Seth watches me as I follow behind him, decorating my hot dog with a wide line of mustard and ketchup. I am surprised how the aroma of the hot dogs has aroused my appetite to monstrous proportions. My stomach rumbles. “Pardon me,” I say, patting my midsection.

“And it's not even lunchtime,” Seth says in Mira's warning voice.

I sprinkle on two spoonfuls of onions. That should certainly create some predictable distance. Mira settles herself on a nearby bus bench to eat her prelunch, and we follow her lead. “Tell us another one, Des,” she says between mouthfuls.

“Another what?”

“One of those strange stories you have about coincidences.”

“What makes you think I have more?”

Aidan sighs. “Oh, you do.”

I smile at Mira, long and deliberately so Aidan can experience the full effect. “What kind do you want to—”

“I know one.”

I look at Seth in surprise.

“Let's hear it!” Mira says.

“It's a presidential one like Des's. When I was in fifth grade, my mom brought me back to the states to learn a little American history firsthand. We had a personal tour of the Capitol, and I pointed to a huge painting where one man was stepping on another man's foot. The tour guide told us that was John Adams stepping on Thomas Jefferson. It was the artist having a little fun over the long rivalry between the two men, which included seeing who would outlive the other. The rivalry went on for years, each one betting he would live the longest.”

“Who won?” Mira asks.

Seth shakes his head. “Neither. They both ended up dying on the very same day.”

“Unbelievable!” Mira says.

“Exactly,” Aidan mumbles.

“Even weirder, they died July 4, 1826, which was the fifty-year anniversary of their signing of the Declaration of Independence.”

“You sure somebody didn't slip them both something? Like an arsenic cocktail? On a special day, of course.”

“Aidan!” Mira says.

Aidan shrugs.

“Or maybe out-of-the-ordinary things just do happen, Aidan,” I say.

“No cocktails,” Seth says, between bites. “The tour guide said it was only a strange coincidence.”

Mira takes the last bite of her hot dog and washes it down with a long sip of soda. “One time when I was little, I was playing hopscotch with friends and I threw my marker and the way the chain fell it looked just like my initials. MP—Mira Peach—as neat and plain as day. Would you call that a coincidence? Amazing at least!”

I roll my eyes. Only Mira would compare dying to a child's game. Seth and Aidan chime in with their varied opinions, and I listen to them haggle back and forth and I
think that perhaps the most amazing thing of all is that I am sitting on a street corner, eating hot dogs and refusing to allow myself to think of what this day promises, for one day being someone different and trying to control a day that has always controlled me. Turning tables.

Seth's arm rubs up against mine in a deliberate nudge. “What do you think?”

I think his arm is getting a bit too familiar with my arm. I think I have forgotten the dangers of getting too close to others. I think I am taking in every inch of his bare arm and rolled-up sleeve. I think if he nudges me one more time, Mira will begin making faces that might make me do something regrettable to her. “I think I need to walk.”

 

 

 

T
HE STREETS OF
L
ANGDON
are busy. The true lunch hour has brought more cars onto the streets and more people passing on the sidewalks. We have had to explain our lambadoodle three times to various admirers. I even give the name and number of our lambadoodle breeder to one insistent and fairly annoying woman.

“Whose number is that really?” Mira asks after the woman leaves.

“Headmaster Cox,” I tell her.

“The Rule Nazi of Hedgebrook?” Seth says.

“How'd you get his number?” Aidan asks, his voice two octaves higher than normal.

“Numbers are my specialty, remember?”

Seth's smile is sinister. “He didn't even listen to my side
when Bingham sent me to his office. I hope that lady calls early and often.”

We laugh and Seth pats Lucky's head. I think he is forgetting that Lucky is not really a dog. We pass an old-fashioned open-air butcher shop in the older part of Langdon. Various meats fill trays in the glass case, and whole animal carcasses hang from hooks.

“Eww.” Mira's wrinkled nose and commentary speak for us all. The mystery meat at Hedgebrook suddenly has its advantages. Seth spots the skinned-pink lamb carcasses at the same time I do. He picks Lucky up and tucks him under his arm.

“Don't look, boy,” he says.

We pick up our pace. One lamb saved. For that alone the day has served us well.

We talk as we walk about what we should do once we have found shoes. Again, Aidan proposes a movie, but he is voted down. Mira suggests an amusement park and then asks me if there is one in Langdon. “I don't think so, Mira.” Seth says he is fine with walking and taking it as it comes. I contemplate what the
it
might be. Besides four missing students at Hedgebrook, there is someone out there who is also missing a car. I hope the
it
does not turn out to be a whole police force hunting us down. I am not
worried for myself. Mr. Gardian will take care of it as he always has, and I will find myself off to yet another boarding school, because no matter the infraction, Mother and Father will not be bothered to interrupt their travel plans. Especially not on Mother's birthday. A few phone calls and some fat checks solve problems most agreeably for them. Money is no object, while I am.

“I like Seth's idea,” Mira says. “Look at the good things that have already happened when we weren't even trying. The four of us together, games and secrets, finding Lucky, Aidan talking to the president, these great clothes, lunch out of our laps. . . . All we need are new shoes and the day will be perfect!”

“You're easy to please, ma'am,” Aidan says in his cowboy accent.

I am saved from having to endure any more googly eyes by a sign with perfect timing:
RUPERT
'
S QUALITY SHOES
.

I am not one to worry about fashion. Every school I have ever attended had uniforms for day and strict attire codes for free time. Fashion choice was a freedom I was happy to surrender. Fading into a sea of navy, maroon, and white made everything about who I was easier. But ever since I found this ridiculously fussy black skirt, I have been eager to rid myself of these clunky brown oxfords.
Anything small and black and light will be a welcome change.

Seth reaches for the door at the same time as I do and our hands touch. I quickly pull mine away.

“After you,” he says.

We pile through the door to find a busy store. Several other customers browse the displays or are trying on shoes. Three bustling clerks disappear in and out of back rooms with stacks of shoe boxes. Mira and I walk to one side, and Aidan and Seth to the other, where the men's shoes are displayed.

“Wow! We hit the jackpot!” Mira proclaims. There are hundreds of shoes to choose from.

Mira and I wander the aisles picking up boots, sandals, and everything in between, turning them over to check the prices.

“Too much?” Mira asks.

“They're fine, Mira. Just choose the ones you want.” Like the money is mine and I really care. Yes, I will have to pony up later, but that won't be a problem. I walk away to another display, where several varieties of flat Mary Janes are offered. I choose two to take back and show the clerk. As soon as I sit down, I pull the laces on my oxfords and kick them off, my toes wiggling with their newfound
freedom. I examine one of the display shoes in my hands. It is black suede with a small suede flower at the buckle. I can't see a size, but I slip it on anyway. It fits perfectly. I make a lopsided walk to a mirror and admire it, turning my foot one way and then the other. Nice. I glance up to see Seth watching me, and I look away and return to my seat to wait for a clerk. I look up one more time. Seth is still watching me. He smiles and then, thankfully, is interrupted by a clerk. I look back at the shoe on my foot. This one will do.

From across the store I hear a squeal and I turn to see what the commotion is. Mira is hugging a shoe to her chest, grinning so wide she looks like she has sprouted extra teeth. She runs over to join me, plopping down in the seat vigorously. Before she shows me her coveted choice, she takes the time to admire the Mary Jane still on my foot.

“That is so you!” she says.

Really? I lift my foot and twist my ankle one way and then the other. Maybe it is. If there are none in my size, I will take the display pair. “And what did you find, Mira?”

She thrusts her shoe out in front of us to admire. A red peep-toed platform pump with pleated details around the toe and a lace bow. Very red. Very shiny. Very flamboyant.
Should I say it is so
her
? I think not. And I am really not sure she needs the extra height. But I must say something. “They will go with your sweater.”