Losing Joe's Place by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online

ordered the Moontrix Mountain, the most expensive drink in the place, a giant whipped-cream-topped milkshake float that would fill a toilet bowl. Then he stuck two straws into the concoction and went off to share it with — who?
    You had to give Don credit. After carefully scouting out every human female in the building, when he went after his quarry, it looked totally spontaneous — guy sees girl, guy offers drink. He didn’t even say a word. He just pushed a straw in her direction and grinned an invitation.
    You saw it coming, but you couldn’t stop it — two thirsty people and a Moontrix Mountain. She lunged at her straw, and Don lunged at his. There was a crack as loud as a gunshot as forehead met forehead. Don staggered back, but the girl crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The entire Moontrix Mountain slipped out of his hand and plopped down right on her head.
    There was a lot of screaming and scrambling, and suddenly Mr. Wonderful was at my elbow. “I think we’d better get out of here,” he said. “I just killed that girl.”
    â€œYou can’t leave now!” I raged. “She’s out cold!”
    Don rubbed his brow. “But when she wakes up, she’s going to be
mad
!”
    I grabbed him and started dragging him into the fray. “We have to find out if she’s okay.”
    We pushed through the crowd of spectators to where the victim lay. Guess who was at the center of everything, directing traffic, barking orders, and applying wet towelettes to the girl’s forehead? Ferguson Peach.
    Pretty soon she was on her feet again, although dripping with Moontrix Mountain. She cleaned up a little, and we hustled her out for some air. Even after that vicious coco-bump and a drenching with a giant drink, you could tell she was great-looking. She was tall and slim, with a really natural look to her. She didn’t put on makeup with a trowel like the Stripper. Also, it didn’t hurt that she was wearing a miniskirt, revealing fantastic legs.
    We introduced ourselves, and she told us her name was Jessica Lincoln. I booted Don in the back of the leg and looked at him sternly.
    â€œUh — yeah,” he said, studying his shoes like a four-year-old admitting he’d thrown his Tonka truck through a picture window. “I’m sorry about — you know. It was an accident”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” she said. “I left myself open.”
    â€œOpen?” queried the Peach.
    â€œIn my
tae kwan do
class, they teach us always to expect an attack, no matter how safe you think you may be.”
    â€œSo you’re into martial arts?” I jumped in quickly. If we ran out of conversation, she might
leave,
and I didn’t have her phone number yet.
    â€œOnly as self-defense,” said Jessica. “There are all kinds of criminals and lunatics on the streets of this city. I don’t want to become a statistic.”
    â€œHave you ever been mugged?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s what scares me,” she admitted. “I’ve lived in Toronto my whole life and I’ve never had the slightest problem.”
    â€œThat’s good,” I said. Wasn’t it?
    â€œIt means my number could be coming up any minute!” she reasoned. “The law of averages is against me.”
    â€œActually,” the Peach began, “according to probability theory —”
    â€œWhat good is probability theory when some drug-crazed maniac is ripping off your watch?” she interrupted.
    â€œWe’ve had kind of an incident,” I said, almost proudly. “My brother’s car was stolen.”
    Jessica looked triumphant. “Society is one big smelly cesspool. You want to go out somewhere?”
    My head snapped to attention. I’d been contemplating the cesspool when she threw out this curve. She was looking straight at Don. No question who she was asking.
    Suddenly Mr. Wonderful