Tag Along by Tom Ryan Read Free Book Online

inside the small playhouse on the other side of the sandbox.
    â€œWho’s in there?” I yell, beginning to feel like I’m in a twisted horror movie.
    After a moment, two little kids crawl out of the playhouse and stand at a distance, looking at me suspiciously. There’s a girl of about ten and a little boy a couple of years younger than her.
    â€œWhy are you dressed like that?” the girl asks—a bit rudely, if you ask me. I find kids creepy at the best of times, but I especially dislike the ones who aren’t polite to adults. I know I might only be seventeen and I’m easily the shortest guy in my class, but as far as I’m concerned, I should qualify as a grown-up to a ten-year-old.
    â€œDressed like what?”
    â€œIn a suit,” she says, pointing. “With all that purple stuff.”
    â€œI’m the tooth fairy,” I tell her. “This is my uniform. Are you kids allowed to be over here by yourselves?”
    The girl, who is obviously in charge, takes a step forward. “We live right over there.” She points toward some houses across the street. “We come here all the time.”
    â€œWell, why don’t you guys scram?” I’ve always wanted to tell someone to scram.
    She sizes me up for a second. I can’t believe I’m having a standoff with a fifth-grader. Finally she shrugs and turns to her brother. “Okay, Frankie, let’s go.” Then she says in a very loud, very distinct voice, “Don’t forget your backpack .” She turns and raises her eyebrows at him. He looks confused for a second, then ducks back into the playhouse. When he emerges, he’s dragging a bulky black backpack.
    As they march past me, the girl turns briefly and looks at my cup. “Milkshakes’ll rot your teeth, tooth fairy .” I sneer back at her and watch as they hustle through the playground and stop to look both ways before darting across the street to their house. Little Frankie hobbles along behind his bossy sister, bent under the weight of his oversized backpack.
    No sooner have the kids disappeared behind their house than a truck pulls up by the sidewalk. A girl jumps out and comes running onto the playground toward the play area. What’s next, a military marching band? So much for alone time.
    She looks like she’s in a big hurry, and she doesn’t notice me until she’s almost at the swing set. She stops in her tracks and quickly looks me up and down. I take a slurp of my milkshake.
    â€œHey,” she says. She’s around my age, but she definitely doesn’t go to my school. She has a small silver nose stud, and her hair is very cool. Jet black, with a thick blue streak in her bangs.
    â€œHey. You planning on mugging me or something?” I ask.
    â€œUm, no,” she mutters as she kneels down by the playhouse door. “Shit!” she yells.
    â€œLooking for a backpack by any chance?” I ask. She spins around to face me.
    â€œDo you have it?” she asks. “Hand it over—it’s mine!” She sounds frantic.
    â€œTake it easy,” I tell her. “I don’t have it, but I’ll tell you where it is if you calm down. If you’d been here thirty seconds earlier, you would have caught them yourself.”
    â€œCaught who?”
    I point across the street. “A couple of kids. They were hiding in there when I showed up, and then they scurried home, dragging your pack behind them. You just missed ’em. Come to think of it, it seemed strange for a little kid to have the anarchy symbol sewed onto his backpack.”
    â€œShit!” she says again. “My wallet’s in that pack, and all my—other stuff.”
    I finish my milkshake with a noisy slurp and hop down from the swing. “You want some help getting it back?” I ask her, tossing my cup in the nearest trashcan.
    She doesn’t sound too enthusiastic. “I think I can