Dave at Night by Gail Carson Levine Read Free Book Online Page A

me, at the end of the corridor, Mr. Meltzer sat in a chair. I got ready to say I had to go to the toilet, but he didn’t move, and I realized he was asleep.
    I put on my slippers and walked a few steps. He still didn’t move. I clapped my hands softly. He shifted in his chair and started snoring. I headed for the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor, walking fast, but quietly.
    The door to the stairwell creaked. I looked back, frightened. He was still asleep. I closed the door gently behind me and let out a deep breath. There was no light on the stairs. I took my slippers off again and felt my way down, hanging on to the banister.
    I wondered if any prefects were prowling around. If I was caught, I’d say, “Where am I? Where’s Ida? Why am I in an icebox?” They’d think I was sleepwalking. At least I hoped they would.
    The first floor was dark, but I was used to it by now. I stood still, listening. My stomach rumbled. It sounded loud enough to wake Mr. Meltzer. The corner of the corridor showed ahead, a deeper black than the rest of the gloom. Touching the wall as I went, I edged along.
    I didn’t know the asylum well enough to guess where they’d put a carving. I came to a door and turned the knob. Locked. The next one was too. All the doors on both sides of the corridor were locked. Even the library was locked now.
    At the end of the hall, it was a little less dark. I pictured Mr. Doom in the lobby, holding his yardstick, waiting to ambush roving boys.
    I glided along, as quiet as snow. Till I stepped on a loose tile. Clink . Not loud, but it echoed in the hall and pounded in my ears.
    Should I run? No. Running would make more noise. I flattened myself against the wall. I heard a bong and flew two feet straight up. I dropped a slipper.
    It was the clock outside, over the entrance. It had struck during the day, but it hadn’t sounded so loud. There were lots of bongs. Eleven o’clock. I tiptoed to the end of the hall and turned the corner.
    The corridor was empty, and the lobby looked empty too. I checked the office doors on the way to the front door, but they were all locked. The front door was locked too, only the lock was on my side for a change. I guessed it was to keep burglars out. I was surprised there wasn’t another one to keep us in.
    The lock turned. I swung the door open and stepped outside. Out of the Home.
    It was slightly warmer out here. There was a breeze, and clouds raced across the moon. I breathed in deeply. The air was fresh and clean. Maybe I should forget the carving, just leave and never come back.
    But I couldn’t forget it.
    I could leave, though, and come back before anybody woke up. I grinned, thinking of all the rules I’d be breaking. I walked to the gate, swinging my arms.
    When I got there I saw why it had been easy to open the front door. The gate to the wrought-iron fence that circled the HHB was locked, and you needed a key to open it.
    I pushed through the bushes that grew against the fence to see if I could squeeze between the posts, but they were too close together. And the crossbar was too high for me to reach.
    I was a prisoner.
    On the 136th Street side of the HHB, there was a smaller gate. It was locked too, but an oak tree grew nearby, and a big branch stretched over into the land of the free.
    The lowest branch was beyond my reach, but the trunk had a crack about three feet up that I could fit my foot in. I tucked my slippers into the waist of my pajamas. Then I stepped into the crack and launched myself at the lowest branch. I fell three times, but I made it on the fourth try.
    From my perch in the tree I looked around. All the lights were out in the Home. The street outside was quiet. I climbed up to the branch that hung over the fence. From there I stepped onto the fence’s crossbar. Then it was easy. I slid down the fence.
    I didn’t know the neighborhood. I’d only seen Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue.