Troll Bridge by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online

sorry for them. Jakob felt like poking Galen in the small of the back with a guitar pick. He could pretty much guess the rest of the sentence, even unspoken. Mom used it all the time and Galen parroted her. Poor little Jakob with his panic attacks. Poor little Jakob who was in the hospital with pneumonia last year .
    Jakob bit his lip. Well, rot Galen’s hide! Without little Jakob and his little songs, there wouldn’t be any Griffson Brothers . Jakob wasn’t really bitter, just realistic. If there was one musician in the family, he was it. The other two just faked it.
    He could hear his father shift in his chair. That was a cue for Jakob and Erik to move out of sight, leaving Galen with no backup at all.
    â€œJakob is fine now,” their father was saying. “The wonders of modern medicine. Which leaves you with no excuses, son.” The sarcasm was laid on thick. He could maim with a phrase, kill with a word.
    For a moment Jakob stopped to consider those lines. Was there a song to be mined from them?
    Meanwhile, Galen—who hadn’t noticed his brothers going AWOL—continued as if they were both there behind him, backing him up. They could hear his voice from down the hall and Jakob realized that Galen had suddenly found real courage. Maybe for the first time.
    For a moment Galen continued pleading with their dad. Then suddenly he shifted tactics again. “Whether you like it or not, Dad, we’re out of here.” His voice was tight, the way it always got at the end of a long set.
    Probably, Jakob thought, Galen’s hands are back raking through his hair. That thick dark fall of hair the girls were all wild about. “Go Gale!” he whispered.
    â€œOne week,” came their father’s voice, full of military authority, as if he were still in the Marines. “You’re due in the studio a week from tomorrow. I had to fight for the time as it is. It’s then or not for another three months, which we can’t afford. You will be back then. And return with some new songs. Put your foot down, boy. Make those two come up with something. You’re the oldest, the leader. Even if Jakob had to teach you how to play guitar.”
    Jakob could hear his father’s chair scraping on the floor. Having gotten off the killer last line, the interview was clearly over.
    Galen escaped out the door without looking back. He walked stiff-shouldered down the hall. When he was far enough from the door, he finally slumped.
    Erik got to him first. “My hero!” There was admiration in his voice, along with an echo of their father’s sarcasm.
    â€œLet’s get out of here. Now!” Galen said. “Before the general changes his mind.” Though their father had only been a colonel when he retired, not a general, they all called him that.
    â€œDuffels are packed and in the town car, sir,” Jakob told him with a mock salute. “Chocolate, too.”
    They almost ran out the front door, past the pillars of the fake plantation porch, racing down the five steps as if they’d just robbed the house that their own royalties had bought.
    A tune plunged through Jakob’s head. Tunes always did that, especially when he was stressed out. He’d been stressed out since he was nine years old and their first record, recorded in their basement on a borrowed ADAT, had been picked up by Virgin Records and gone platinum.
    They piled into the car, Jakob in the back with the cooler, Galen in the driver’s seat. At nineteen he was the only one of them old enough to drive. Erik would serve as navigator. No roadies, no sound man, no chauffeur. And especially no Mom or Dad. Just the three of them on their own.
    How long had it been since that was possible? Jakob couldn’t remember. That’s how long.
    â€œGo! Go! Go!” Erik urged and the motor came alive, purring. Galen swung them around the circular driveway and out along the lake road.
    They were