Read Online Until I Find Julian by Patricia Reilly Giff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Reilly Giff
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cave?
I walk toward it quietly, shuffling through millions of old pine needles and sand, staring at the narrow slit in the rocks.
Suppose an animal lives in that cave?
The bobcat? A coyote?
I have to go back. Maybe I could work at the food store again, although it doesn’t need sweeping now; it doesn’t need dusting.
And Angel will be waiting for me. I wonder about her.
All I know after all this time is that she has a brother, Diego, and yes, a grandfather.
It’s hard to find my way out. One path leads to another, and then to another.
I begin to run again, the pine needles scuffing up. But I’m not so far from the road, I’m sure of it; I hear the sound of cars rolling along on the pavement, the beeping of a horn, a dog barking faintly.
I follow those sounds until I find the road, a car whizzing past.
I head for home.
Home?
It’s amazing that I’m thinking about the house that way. We shouldn’t even be there. And suppose we’re caught?
What a long day—the factory, the women having sandwiches at the picnic table, one of them knowing Julian. I think of the pines as I head away from them, losing that clean, clear smell. I wish I could show the forest to Julian.
But then I stop. Julian lived here, right in that house, going back and forth to the factory.
He’d have seen this pine forest.
Wouldn’t he have walked here the way I have?
And if he’s still somewhere nearby, wouldn’t he come back to walk along those needle-strewn paths?
Unless he’s gone.
But there’s something else: the woman with her streaked hair caught up in a large clip, her boots, the sunflower seeds she dropped for the animals in the forest.
I’ve seen her before, haven’t I?
I stop in the middle of the road, the black tar sticky in the heat. She was at the unfinished building, standing there.
And she was crying.
I wonder why.
As I turn into the alley, I see a man and a woman standing halfway down, looking up…
Toward our house?
The woman has a camera. Is she taking a picture? Do they want to move in?
My heart bounces up into my throat.
I back away and go around to the front. Opening the door quietly, I slip inside.
Halfway through the living room, I hear the bedroom door slam. It’s so loud, I wonder if the man and woman outside can hear it. Do they wonder who’s slamming a door in an empty house?
“Angel?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer.
I put my nose up to the closed door. “People are outside.”
She opens the door a crack, her eyes flashing.
“In the alley,” I say. “Two of them.”
“I don’t care.”
I push my foot in so she can’t slam the door again. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You’re the matter,” she says. “You’ve been gone forever. How was I to know if you weren’t caught somewhere? Never coming back?” She shoves her hair behind her ears.
I look toward the living room and see my note on the table. An empty soda bottle rests on top of it. How could she not have seen it?
“Look.” I point to the note. “I told you where I was going.”
She shakes her head.
“Under the soda bottle.”
She pushes the door open, cranes her neck, and glances at the table. “I didn’t see it.”
She had to have seen it.
I hesitate.
I look from the table and then at her.
She steps away from the door, then tries to close it.
“No.” I’m almost shouting, my foot holding the door open. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing at all.” Her nose is in the air. She sees that I’m not going to let her close the door, so she pulls it open and stamps into the kitchen as if I don’t exist.
I lean my head against the wall for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then I grab my writing book and follow her. I slide onto a chair, the book in front of me. I act as if everything is all right. “I’m going to write some words here.” I smooth out a page. “It’s time I learned more English.”
“A waste of time.”
“You don’t have to write
I walk toward it quietly, shuffling through millions of old pine needles and sand, staring at the narrow slit in the rocks.
Suppose an animal lives in that cave?
The bobcat? A coyote?
I have to go back. Maybe I could work at the food store again, although it doesn’t need sweeping now; it doesn’t need dusting.
And Angel will be waiting for me. I wonder about her.
All I know after all this time is that she has a brother, Diego, and yes, a grandfather.
It’s hard to find my way out. One path leads to another, and then to another.
I begin to run again, the pine needles scuffing up. But I’m not so far from the road, I’m sure of it; I hear the sound of cars rolling along on the pavement, the beeping of a horn, a dog barking faintly.
I follow those sounds until I find the road, a car whizzing past.
I head for home.
Home?
It’s amazing that I’m thinking about the house that way. We shouldn’t even be there. And suppose we’re caught?
What a long day—the factory, the women having sandwiches at the picnic table, one of them knowing Julian. I think of the pines as I head away from them, losing that clean, clear smell. I wish I could show the forest to Julian.
But then I stop. Julian lived here, right in that house, going back and forth to the factory.
He’d have seen this pine forest.
Wouldn’t he have walked here the way I have?
And if he’s still somewhere nearby, wouldn’t he come back to walk along those needle-strewn paths?
Unless he’s gone.
But there’s something else: the woman with her streaked hair caught up in a large clip, her boots, the sunflower seeds she dropped for the animals in the forest.
I’ve seen her before, haven’t I?
I stop in the middle of the road, the black tar sticky in the heat. She was at the unfinished building, standing there.
And she was crying.
I wonder why.
As I turn into the alley, I see a man and a woman standing halfway down, looking up…
Toward our house?
The woman has a camera. Is she taking a picture? Do they want to move in?
My heart bounces up into my throat.
I back away and go around to the front. Opening the door quietly, I slip inside.
Halfway through the living room, I hear the bedroom door slam. It’s so loud, I wonder if the man and woman outside can hear it. Do they wonder who’s slamming a door in an empty house?
“Angel?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer.
I put my nose up to the closed door. “People are outside.”
She opens the door a crack, her eyes flashing.
“In the alley,” I say. “Two of them.”
“I don’t care.”
I push my foot in so she can’t slam the door again. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You’re the matter,” she says. “You’ve been gone forever. How was I to know if you weren’t caught somewhere? Never coming back?” She shoves her hair behind her ears.
I look toward the living room and see my note on the table. An empty soda bottle rests on top of it. How could she not have seen it?
“Look.” I point to the note. “I told you where I was going.”
She shakes her head.
“Under the soda bottle.”
She pushes the door open, cranes her neck, and glances at the table. “I didn’t see it.”
She had to have seen it.
I hesitate.
I look from the table and then at her.
She steps away from the door, then tries to close it.
“No.” I’m almost shouting, my foot holding the door open. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing at all.” Her nose is in the air. She sees that I’m not going to let her close the door, so she pulls it open and stamps into the kitchen as if I don’t exist.
I lean my head against the wall for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then I grab my writing book and follow her. I slide onto a chair, the book in front of me. I act as if everything is all right. “I’m going to write some words here.” I smooth out a page. “It’s time I learned more English.”
“A waste of time.”
“You don’t have to write
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