Crunch by Leslie Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

listen.
    “We’re all right,” Mom said. “Still sleeping in the tent and paying for showers at the truck stop. There are other people in our same situation. The stops to the south must be much more crowded. So maybe we’re lucky that way. They let us charge up the phone, and we watch the news at the diner here. And boy, no rain in sight, huh?” She asked about the garden and the goat girls, but then she asked about us again and again.
    Mom relaxed a little when we said we’d seen Pop and Mattie and that we’d eaten a big suppertogether, and Runks had visited. We put the twins on the phone. They passed the receiver back and forth. I kept hearing Angus say, “But do you think there will be some diesel tomorrow ?”
    Finally, I got a turn to talk and I told Dad about selling the bike to Robert Deal. “Oh, well done!” he said. “Was it busy again today?”
    “It was,” I said, and I flashed on the Gilmartin incident for a split second. “But nothing we can’t handle,” I added. Vince threw himself in front of my face and crossed his eyeballs at me. He pretended to choke himself and die on the floor right there in the kitchen. I turned my back on him. “I can’t even remember, but I think seven or eight bikes went back out today,” I said. “And Dad, I’m probably going to have to make a run to Bocci’s for parts soon. How do we usually pay him? Can I take him cash?”
    “Sure. Bocci likes cash just fine,” Dad said. “But Dewey, what are you running out of? Has there really been that much business?”
    “Dad,” I said, “it is so cool. We’re the ones putting everybody back on the road.”

14
    THE NEXT MORNING, ANGUS AND EVA AND I pedaled to Sea Camp as usual, except that I had hitched the carrier to my bike. I had a roll of dough in my pocket and I was going to pick up parts at Bocci Bike and Rec. There were just too many jobs in the shop that we couldn’t do because we needed this part or that part.
    With the twins settled at camp, I cooked down the Post Road and got on the highway at Featherbed Lane. We were in for another hot one. The empty carrier wheeled along easily behind me. I’d be using my legs—big-time—all the way home. For now, I rode the left lane, passing pretty much everyone. I couldn’t help thinking, Eat my dust!
    Timing is everything. A pack of cyclists on roadbikes began to pass me on the left. They zipped by in their purple-and-white jerseys, heads and shoulders bent over their handlebars.
    “Team Bocci!” I whispered to myself. I pedaled harder—for about a nanosecond. Then I watched as they continued down the highway. Talk about dust. They were soon out of view. I’d see them at the store. But not for a while.
    I pedaled on. I listened for diesels. One tiny electric surprised me as it hummed by. I had to smile. They were cute, efficient cars. Dad had said we’d be seeing more of them. Vince called them wheelie pods. Around our house, the name had stuck.
    Poor Vince. I’d left him alone in the shop again. “Just like yesterday…” he’d sort of sung it to me as I was leaving. I’d told him, “We can’t clear bikes if we don’t have parts.”
    I followed several other riders into the parking lot at Bocci. No cars.
    “Ah, young Mr. Marriss!” Mr. Bocci had an Italian accent that rang like a welcome bell. “And with a trailer, I see.” He held the door open while two people rode brand-new bikes right out of the showroom onto the sidewalk.
    “Hey, Mr. Bocci,” I said. Then, because it seemed the natural thing to say, I asked, “How are sales?”
    “Good.” He wiped his brow. “ Terribly good!” He laughed. “You want a job?” He was probably kidding. I wasn’t even sure it was legal for a fourteen-year-old kid to have a real job.
    “Uh, well, thanks. But we’re terribly busy , too.” I stole his line. “I’m looking for parts, if you can help me,” I said. “I tried to get here early. I know you’re busy. But I’m on my own—well, with