“No. Jax with an X.”
“Okay, Jax with an X, you visiting?”
“Sort of.”
“Haven’t decided yet?” he said, winking at me.
“Something like that.” I turned to look out my window, hoping it would discourage chitchat.
“So what do you think so far?”
No such luck. “Of what?”
“Town.”
“I don’t know. Not much to it—I mean…uh…” What kind of nuddy insults his kidnapper’s hometown? “I just meant, it could use some more stores and stuff.”
“I hear you,” he said.
Maybe he was faking it, but he really didn’t seem offended.
“The town is actually trying to get some more businesses in. In fact, people really want to see something go in the old station house.”
“The place with the Petersville sign?” I said.
“That’s right. The train used to run through town and stop there. We thought it should be put to some use, but nobody’s sure for what.”
“I once went to a restaurant in an old firehouse. It was really cool. They kept the pole and everything. You could do something like that?”
“You think we should put a restaurant there?”
“The town could use one. I mean, it seems like there’s no place where people can get together, and that place would be perfect.” I considered telling him about Mom’s plans but decided it was best to keep Jim the Kidnapper on a need-to-know basis only. Just then, I saw our driveway fly by. “This is it!”
“What?”
“Here, here, here, stop here!”
“All right, relax. You sure you don’t want me to take you up that hill. Looks like you still have a long way to go.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just get out here, thanks.”
Jim the Kidnapper pulled over. I got out and pulled my bike off the back.
“Okay, bye,” I said, waving.
“Just wait one second.” Jim climbed out of the truck holding a small tool. “Let me see that seat.” After a minute of tinkering, the seat was back in its place.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome, Jax. See you around.”
“Yeah, right. See you around,” I said, wondering where exactly you saw people around in Petersville. Did they hang out at Turnby’s discussing the odd mix of products, trying to crack the code that tied them together? Judging from the chocolate cream doughnuts story, I couldn’t imagine Winnie wanted a bunch of people chatting in her store even if they were buying stuff.
As I dragged my bike up Terror Mountain, I wondered how many state troopers my parents had out looking for me by now. After all, they’d woken up with me gone who-knows-where in the middle of a flash flood.
But there were no cars with sirens in front of the house when I finally made it there, just the moving truck. Wet cardboard boxes were already piled on the porch, and three guys in soaked SMOOTHE MOVE T-shirts were standing in front of them, studying the sky.
“Hey,” one of them said to me as I came up the steps.
“Hi,” I said.
“That your sister in there?” another asked.
“Yeah.” I didn’t have to ask who they meant.
“She’s totally freaking out, man,” the first said.
“Totally!” the second said.
“She yelled and then she cried and then she yelled some more,” the third said.
“Yeah. She does that,” I said.
“It’s crazy,” the first said.
“Totally,” the second said again.
“And kind of scary,” the third said with a shiver.
“Yup,” I said.
Not only had my parents not been worried about me, they hadn’t even noticed I was gone. And now that I was back, they barely seemed to notice that either.
“Does Tris know?” Jeanine shrieked when I came through the door.
“Know what?” I said.
“Go on. Tell him,” she said.
“Right before we left the city, I got a call from the principal of Waydin Elementary. He seems so nice, really bright,” Mom said.
“Get to the point!” Jeanine snapped.
“Jeannie,” my father warned.
“Jeanine’s upset because Mr. Kritcher doesn’t want you two to start till second semester. He thinks it will make for a smoother transition,” my mother explained.
“Do you even know how long that is? January! It’s November. What are we going to do all that time?” Jeanine said.
I have to admit, I was with Jeanine on this one. What would we do all that time? I was all for an extra-long winter break, but given what I’d just seen of town, there was a good chance I’d die of boredom.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “Start a project or something.”
“Perfect! I love that idea,” Dad said. “I’m making it official. Both of you will come up with a project, something all your own, that you can work on before school starts.”
This was so much worse than dying of boredom.
“A project isn’t school. How can we not go to school for two whole months?” Jeanine sobbed.
“Please, calm down,” Mom begged, pressing her fingers to the sides of her forehead.
“And don’t exaggerate. It’s less than two months,” Dad said.
“Isn’t this illegal? Don’t we have to be in school by law? What if I call the police and tell them my parents are keeping me out of school against my will?” Jeanine was pacing the kitchen now, and her voice was all crazy like we were playing her on the wrong speed. “What if I call Kevin’s dad and ask him if there’s some kind of court case he can file? What if I write to newspapers and news stations and—”
“Sa-Sooo-Feeee!” my father shouted so loud the third Smoothe Move guy, who’d finally gotten the courage to start bringing boxes in again, ran back outside.
Don’t ask me what Dad yelled. All I can tell you is that it was French. Even though he grew up in New York, he spoke French at home because my grandmother is from France. Now his French never comes out unless he’s really angry or talking to my grandmother—or both.
Jeanine doesn’t speak French any more than I do, but right after Dad yelled, she ran out of the room too. Dad’s French usually has that effect. Not just because he almost never yells, but also because getting yelled at in a language you don’t understand is especially scary, which is strange when
