shadows.
Anyway, Iâm not really doing this. Theyâre really doing this. Iâm just here. It isnât as if weâre taking money. Or hurting anybody.
A car was coming. Its engine splattered the silent night.
Fear filled her mouth like a spoonful of peanut butter, sealing her shut, preventing speech and breathing.
âDonât worry about the car,â said Nicholas. âYou can do anything you want. Nobody ever stops.â
âWhat if itâs cops?â whispered Morgan.
Nicholas mocked him. âIt wonât be cops, little boy. Who would patrol here? Just keep on working.â
Headlights exposed them against the black pavement. Remy felt as if she were on an operating table, naked, her heart lying open.
Itâs just a road sign, she said to herself. Itâs hardly even wrong.
The car did not slow down, but shot past as if it had no driver, was a robotized vehicle on its way to another world.
The sign came down easily. The bolt had not been hammered up after all, and the wrench did the job. Remy was amazed at how large the sign was. It didnât look like much when you drove by. Nickie carried the tools while Morgan took the sign. Nickie popped the Buickâs trunk. When Morgan dropped THICKLY SETTLED down, Christmas-tree needles from last year jumped up off the carpet pile.
Nickie got back in the driverâs seat. Morgan opened the door for Remy and she almost got in, but sitting in the middle meant touching Nickie. She nodded for Morgan to go in first.
Nickie saw. He drove off with a screaming spurt, undoubtedly leaving tire marks.
Remy told herself that nobody was going to photograph the tread stains. Nobody would investigate who had taken THICKLY SETTLED . They would just put up a new THICKLY SETTLED .
She tried not to think about what could have gone wrong, reminding herself that nothing had.
T he Buick surged onto the highway, seventy miles an hour by the time it got to the top of the entrance ramp. Morgan sucked in his breath. Nickie was a very aggressive driver. He expected the world to move over for him, and so far it had. It did again. Morgan let the air back out of his lungs.
âSo, Miss Marland,â said Nickie tauntingly. The edge of his voice was like a paper cut. âWhatâs your pleasure?â
A sentence Morganâs father used at political gatherings when he wanted action. Morgan had a brief picture of Dadâs reaction if he could see his son now.
Remyâs grip on Morgan tightened. Morgan felt the fine, thin bones of her fingers. She was afraid of Nickie.
Donât worry, Remy, Iâm between you and Nickie. Iâll take care of you. I know what a gutter rat he is. Weâll never waste our time with him again
.
He could never say these things to Remy anymore than he could ever talk to his father. But he could act on them.
âActually,â Remy said, âthere is a Morgan Road.â He knew her eyes were blue, but in the dark there was no color. Just intensity. âWe could get the street sign of Morgan Road,â she whispered.
Morganâs heart left earth so fast, he jet-lagged. She wanted a Morgan Road sign? How much could he read into that? His lips and cheek did brush her hair. Soft as a down quilt, as if he could bury himself there. Morganâs fantasies smothered him.
âWhereâs Morgan Road?â said Nickie. âWe canprobably just unscrew it. Thatâs the way street-name signs are. Itâll be up high to stop us, but we can stand on the roof of this baby. This is a strong car. Use it like truck.â
Neither passenger heard a word.
R emy loved taking MORGAN ROAD .
Fearful as she was of cop cars, neighbors, or wandering German shepherds, she wanted the expression in Morganâs eyes to continue.
All her reading and all her observations had convinced Remy that you could never tell. You could not look at a boy and see if he cared about you.
Wrong.
One look at Morgan Campbell