Free Tom Finder by Martine Leavitt Page B

this morning. I don’t remember seeing a picture of you, but I’ll check again.” He shuffled through papers for a long time, occasionally glancing up at Tom. Soon it would be over, Tom thought. Not so bad. Not so bad. He was doing this. He’d sleep in his own bed tonight.
    The officer said, “Nope.”
    Tom suddenly couldn’t remember what that word meant.
    â€œNo one matching your description, kid, and no pictures of you.”
    Tom rocked on his feet. His neck shot with pain, as if gravity had just sat on his head. He felt his spine compress. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t say, “That can’t be right.”
    â€œListen, kid, I think you’d better come have a seat. Maybe we can help you.”
    Tom reached into his backpack and took out his book.
    â€œWhat have you got there?” the officer asked.
    Tom read his notes. Someone had thought he was nice. Nice didn’t come from parents that didn’t look for you. There had to be some kind of explanation. For a moment he thought about trusting the officer. Maybe he could help.
    Tom took a deep breath and asked, “Can you tell me what happened to that dog that was hit on Macleod and Seventh?”
    â€œSure, I heard about that . . . Oh, so you’re the one . . . Yeah, I heard about that.”
    â€œWhere’s the dog?”
    â€œPut it out of its misery.”
    â€œThey couldn’t fix him?”
    The officer shrugged. “Would have cost a fortune in vet fees. The system isn’t set up to take care of strays.”
    Tom nodded slowly. “Makes sense,” he said. He turned to walk out the door.
    â€œHey, where are you going? Maybe if I had a last name . . . You know your own last name, don’t you, kid?” the officer called after him.
    Tom walked until he was back to his island. Along the way he found a twenty-dollar bill. When he reached the island, Tom got out his notebook and wrote in it, The streets love Tom. He curled up in his blanket, and in the last fading light he read once more Peter Pepsi Sivorak’s obituary.
    He stared at the page a long time until all he could see was the space, the loopy letters, zeroes on a string.

Chapter 6
    Tell me, good friend!
Have you ever been so fortunate as to see
this goddess of the night?
    â€“ Act 1, scene 2

    The streets loved him, but gave him only a little money at a time—mostly loonies and toonies and quarters, sometimes a five or a ten. He knew that at this rate he couldn’t find enough money in a lifetime to rent a billboard. He couldn’t think of what else to do. For a long time he thought about why his parents weren’t looking for him. He figured they thought he’d run away over some typical teenage squabble and they were giving him his space. Maybe they thought he was visiting a relative. He probably had dozens of cousins, and an uncle who took him swimming.
    He was looking for H ELP W ANTED signs and thinking of all this one morning when he walked into a bucket filled with water.
    Someone snarled at him. “Hey, watch where you’re going, or you’ll kick the bucket all right.”
    It was the kid from the shelter with the Betty Boop tattoo on his arm. He was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and Tom could see that he had a lot of other tattoos as well.
    â€œHey, it’s the lipstick licker. What are you doing here, girl?”
    â€œLooking for a job,” Tom said. His legs twitched, ready to run.
    â€œYeah? Well, you’re in my territory.”
    Tom glanced around. “It looks like a regular street to me.” He told his legs to be still. He could fight if he had to, he reminded them.
    Tom thought Betty Boop jiggled a bit. “Well, maybe you’re not a girl after all, eh?” He pointed at himself. “Jamie.”
    â€œTom.”
    Jamie spat. It lay there looking alive on the sidewalk. “Now, Tom, I’ll explain to you. See, I’m a