Rogue by Lyn Miller-Lachmann Read Free Book Online Page A

confused.
    He nods. “They sometimes keep it behind the pharmacy counter. Buy as much as you can. And bring back the change.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI wait here. With the bikes.”
    But he already locked the bikes. He doesn’t need to watch them.
Still, I go into the drugstore alone.
If I do a good job, Chad will be nicer to me. He will want to be my friend.
    A musty odor greets me as soon as I pass through the door. The fluorescent lighting makes my eyes throb, and I hear buzzing overhead. I read the signs for the aisles. First Aid. Hair Care. Cold and Flu.
    The shelves in the middle of the Cold and Flu aisle are bare except for a little handwritten sign.
For Sudafed, Contac, and generic pseudoephedrine, please see pharmacist.
    Just like Chad said.
    On the back wall is the sign for the pharmacy, and I don’t know why they would keep cold medicine behind the counter. All I know is that I’ll have to look some grown-up in the eye and ask for it.
    I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and force my shaky legs to take one step after another. Past the cough syrup and throat drops. Past the cookies, crackers, and potato chips in the next aisle.
    A notice taped to the countertop says they only sell two boxes per person, and I have to sign a logbook. I ding the bell on the counter. The pharmacist is bald, with a mustache and square, rimless glasses. I glance into his eyes and say quickly before looking down, “Two boxes of Sudafed, please.”
    He hands me a clipboard and asks me for an ID.
    â€œID?” I had one for school, but now that I’m not in school, I don’t carry it anymore. “I . . . I left it at home. Didn’t know . . .”
    â€œNew law. Went into effect a while ago.” He points to a blank line. “Sign it and remember next time.”
    I sign my name, pay for the medicine, and take the boxes out to Chad.
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me I needed an ID?” I ask him.
    Chad shrugs and pushes open the glass door, leaving me waiting on the sidewalk. Wondering what this new law is and why it was passed. He returns with two more boxes, quickly unlocks the bikes, and wraps the chain around his seat. “Hurry up,” he says. “We have to find another place.”
    â€œAnother drugstore?” I ask as I lead Chad toward the river.
    â€œDuh.”
    â€œBut we have four boxes. Isn’t that enough for Brandon?”
    Chad seems to hesitate for a moment. “We’re all going to catch it, you know.”
    The town park along the river has a paved bike path, and we ride next to the water, bits of sunlight flashing from the rippled water, wind blowing our hair in all directions. Chad and I turn right to get onto the bridge. I point out the four identical bronze statues of mermaids atop rocks, two at each end.
    â€œThe mermaid is the symbol of Willingham,” I explain to Chad when we stop at a traffic light on the other side. “They say the early settlers drank too much ale when they went fishing, and they thought they saw mermaids swimming in the river.”
    Chad pushes his blond hair out of his eyes and stares at the river, as if mesmerized by its sparkling surface.
    I add, “Some of the fishermen drowned when they dived in to catch a mermaid.”
    The light changes, and Chad says, “Skip the tour. Where’s the drugstore?”
    â€œThat’s the only one in Willingham. We have to go to College Park.”
    He groans. “How far?”
    For once, I’m glad I’ve had to ride Max’s beater bike around town because it’s kept me in shape. “Couple of miles,” I answer.
    We cross the river and follow the state highway to College Park, the town next to Willingham, where the state university is. Cars whiz past, but the shoulder is wide, making it safe for us to ride one in front of the other. We pass a gas station, a Dunkin’ Donuts, a highway overpass, and the large