The Summer We Lost Alice by Jan Strnad Read Free Book Online Page A

have to put them up our butts."
    I laugh despite myself.
    She looks at me sadly. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble. You've always been loyal to me. You're the only person in my whole kingdom I can trust."
    I ignore her apology, but I'm not mad anymore. I lay back and stare at a spider on the ceiling. I don't say a word for a long time, maybe fifteen seconds.
    "I might know how to get the treasure back," I say. I look over at her, and she smiles at me.
    "Do tell!" she says. (Nobody in Wichita says "Do tell." Nobody else in Meddersville, for that matter. Only Alice.)
    I reach under my bed and pull out the sack containing the leash I bought at the drug store. I hold it out for Alice to take.
    She opens the sack. When she sees what's inside, her eyes get narrow.
    "What's this for?" she says.
    "For Boo. We can put it on him and give him a ball or something. Then he'll take us to his hiding place. You can get your stuff back. The treasure, I mean."
    Alice thinks about it for a moment. She chews her lower lip and curls her hair in her finger and stares into space, seeing the adventure before it even happens, seeing it in her mind. She takes out the leash and tugs it between her hands, testing its strength. She looks up at me.
    "Baron," she says. She's never called me "Baron" before. "Baron, you are a genius. The royal treasure will be restored. You have pleased us. You may kiss my hand."
    I do.
    * * *
    We're in the backyard. The sunlight has already faded when I snap a picture of the Queen of Bohemia and the Royal Mascot.
    Alice wears the cereal box on her head. Boo sits beside her scratching at a Royal Flea. I wait for him to finish before taking the picture. This is a historic moment as the queen prepares to flee the castle and recover the royal treasure. I push the shutter button on Aunt Flo's camera and the flashbulb goes off. Queen and Mascot are immortalized on film.
    I would take more photos but the queen and I discovered earlier in the day that a flashbulb would flash if you threw it against something hard, such as a bedroom floor, or a wall, or a head, and I am down to my last bulb.
    It will be twenty-five years before I see the result of my work. By then, Alice and Boo will have disappeared and been presumed dead, and a picture that was supposed to make us happy will bring longing and regret and a bittersweet memory of the way things were, for one incandescent moment, before we learned how cruel the world at its worst could be.
    Aunt Flo tells us it's dark and time to come in.
    We're thinking it's dark and time to go out.

Chapter Eight
     
    AUNT FLO and Uncle Billy sleep like the dead, which makes it easy to sneak out any time after the news.
    Catherine goes first. She runs down the front walk and hurries along the sidewalk to the end of the street where Sammy has parked his car. She gets in and they drive off.
    Alice and I sneak out the back door with Boo. Alice fastens the leash onto his collar. She holds on tight and tells me to do the same.
    "It'll take both of us to hold him back," she whispers. "Anybody who lets go gets left behind."
    She waves a rubber dinosaur under Boo's nose, then tosses it a few feet away. Boo pounces. He clamps the dinosaur in his jaws and runs for the woods, me and Alice dragged along behind like whalers who've harpooned the beast of their dreams.
    Boo chokes against his collar, his throat chuffing as he barrels along. He bursts through hedges like the dinosaur he holds in his teeth. He runs through streets and alleyways, down sidewalks, around houses. The night air is intoxicating. No pausing this time, not even to sniff the bucket of stink bait outside the Clements' garage or the dead squirrel in Mrs. Ingram's rose bed. He runs like a dog on a mission, as if he, too, has been sucked into Alice's fantasy. His feet churn up backyard gardens and toss dirt clods in our faces. We do our best to hang on, stumbling and bumping heads, falling, getting up, persevering.
    We race through yards and past