Chasing the Skip by Janci Patterson Read Free Book Online

out working on graphing problems was really hard when one of us couldn’t see the graphs. After trying to describe the lines to Dad, I started sketching them in the condensation at the edges of the windshield. They weren’t very exact but got the point across.
    We pulled into Laramie around eleven o’clock. Everything about the town was brown—the shrubs, the hills, the buildings, even the shop signs—like someone had built it to match a sepia photograph.
    “Want a milkshake?” Dad asked.
    My stomach growled, even though I was really tired of fast food.
    “Maybe a sandwich, too. I could drop you at a burger place and then pick you up on our way out.”
    “You can’t just leave me at some restaurant.”
    “Why not? You can work on that math.”
    “Because I’m your daughter, not your dog.”
    “I wouldn’t leave a dog alone in a restaurant.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Fine,” Dad said. “We’ll stop for food on our way out. But this time you stay in the truck. I mean it.”
    The cousin’s house was in a rattier neighborhood, full of overgrown lawns and broken-down cars. Dad pulled on his bounty-hunting persona as he walked up to the door, taking long, deliberate steps.
    As he pounded on the door, a guy in jeans hoisted himself over the backyard fence.
    I gasped. The guy looked a little older than me, with black hair and olive skin. His hips pivoted like a gymnast’s as he twisted his legs over the fence and dropped feet first into a neighbor’s yard.
    That had to be Ian Burnham.
    I kicked open my door and yelled at Dad. “He went that way!” I pointed to the house next door, and Dad jerked into action. He sprinted around the corner to the fence, moving faster than I would have thought a dad could. He jerked at the neighbor’s gate, but it didn’t open immediately, so Dad grabbed onto the top of the fence and pulled himself up, throwing one leg over.
    The fence scraped down his leg as Dad tossed himself into the neighbor’s yard—much less gracefully than Ian had. I watched the fence tops for movement but saw nothing.
    Out of sight in the neighbor’s yard, anything could happen. If Dad got hurt, how would I even know? What should I do if he didn’t come back? Call 911?
    I held my breath. This was almost like watching an episode of Cops , except that if someone got killed, no one could turn off the camera.
    When Dad didn’t come back, I started to wonder if I should go after him. Maybe Ian had knifed him. Or maybe it was nothing—maybe the neighbor had caught Dad in his yard and Dad had to stop to explain. Then again, the neighbor might have pointed a gun at him. There were people like that—people who’d shoot an intruder before asking questions.
    My hands itched for the cell phone Dad had left Velcroed to the dash. I could call the cops. Make them go look.
    Right then the fence swung open and Dad appeared, dragging the skip with him. Dad didn’t look shot or knifed. I let out the breath I’d been holding.
    Dad held Ian’s arms behind his back as he brought him out of the yard. On the news, people usually kept their heads down when they were being arrested, trying to hide their faces. Not Ian. He kept his head thrown back, his chin thrust forward like he was going to use it to catch a fall. His eyes glanced around, like he was looking for a direction to make his escape. This skip was nothing like Alison. He wasn’t going to come easy.
    Ian wore a long-sleeved shirt that fit tightly through the chest and across his arms, showing off his pecs and biceps. The shirt had a straight-edger symbol on it, like one that Jamie’s friend Jake used to wear before he got beat up for it.
    As they approached the car, both Ian and Dad looked at me. I hadn’t closed the door, so nothing but air stood between us. Ian met my eyes and nodded. I wasn’t sure what to do. Was it safe to nod back?
    Dad raised his eyebrows at me and looked pointedly at my open door. I reached out and closed it as Dad pushed