Free Until I Find Julian by Patricia Reilly Giff

anything, Angel. Just spell out a few words.” I slide the book toward her.
    “I’m too tired.”
    “You could help me,” I begin, but I’m saying it to her back.
    She’s gotten up from her chair and lifted the curtain at the bottom of the window an inch or so. She stares out at the alley. “There’s no one there.”
    “They’re gone, then.” I’d forgotten all about them. “Help me, Angel.” I try to say it so she doesn’t know how angry I am.
    She sinks down on the chair again. “You should learn to say the words before you write them down, Matty.” Fresh voice.
    I’m ready to explode. “All you do is hang out.”
    She uncurls her bare feet from underneath her and goes into the living room.
    “You could just—” I begin, but she brushes past me and goes back into the bedroom. She doesn’t bother to shut the door and I can see she’s grabbing her bag and the sweater she picked up in the desert.
    Stamping into the kitchen, she takes a little of Sal’s money from the table. “I’ll pay you back; don’t worry.” She slams out the door.
    I watch from the window. She runs along the alley, her bag bouncing on her shoulder, and turns the corner. Where is she going?
    I can do that too.
    I go out the front door.
    It’s really late now, and the streets are empty: no people, no cars. It’s not that dark, though, so I run all the way back to the pine trees.
    I take that small path, breathing in the sharp piney smell to calm myself. A small animal crashes away from me.
    I sink down and huddle under one of the trees. What’s wrong with Angel?
    Last night, everything was different. She pulled me outside in the yard, past the junk that littered the lawn, and showed me small cactus flowers that were blooming under a rusted-out table.
    “You can hardly see them in the dark,” I said.
    She nodded. “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, though. Don’t they look beautiful?”
    She was smiling at me, happy.
    Weird.
    And another thing. She cleaned the whole kitchen during the morning while I was gone; I saw that. She scrubbed the last of the cereal stains off the floor and the fingerprints off the cabinets.
    I sit under the tree for a long time. I’m so quiet now that I hear the small noises the forest makes: the swish of the branches, a soft hoot. I look up slowly, moving my head an inch at a time, and I see an owl, feathers so soft, yellow eyes blinking.
    Suppose Angel doesn’t come back?
    Angel, who helped me cross the river, who shared soup with me.
    Angel with her bag over her shoulder.
    Was she heading toward the train station?
    I picture her climbing onto a train just before it begins to move.
    Angel sitting on one of those seats next to the window, napping while the engine carries her south.
    Angel gone.
    Would she do that?
    I scramble up and run through the trees, down the narrow path where I saw the deer. I veer onto the street, my sneakers slapping the pavement, my breath loud in my ears.
    I see that woman again; this time her hair hangs straight down her back. She carries an umbrella, swinging it along in the dark.
    Never mind that she sees me, an illegal. I’m fast and I’m away from her.
    Angel!
    I have to make sure Angel is still there.

I circle a telephone pole and a pair of garbage cans, dash across the yard, and push open the kitchen door, not even bothering to close it behind me. Fingers crossed, I call, “I’m back, Angel,” and stop to catch my breath.
    I walk through the house, holding my side. The bedroom is neat without Angel’s bag and her things on the floor.
    Empty.
    Everything is completely quiet.
    “Angel?” It almost sounds as if my voice is echoing. “It’s Matty. I’m here.”
    Where is she?
    In the kitchen, I sink onto a chair. She’s going to take the train south. Maybe she’ll go back over the border. She knows how to do that.
    I race back through the living room, slip on the rug, right myself, and tear out the front door.
    I don’t care who sees me….
    I have