Free Moon Shadow: The Totally True Love Adventure Series (Volume 1) by R.L. Fox Page B

oh gosh,” she says, still out of breath. But then she adds, as she quickly regains her composure, “Yes, of course I’m all right. My Gucci hobo.”
    Her small white purse lies unscathed in the lane. I retrieve it, and Sarah takes out a Kleenex, wipes her eyes and blows her nose.
    “Let’s not tell my mom about this, okay? She’d kill me for being so stupid. I’m fine now.”
    “You sure?”
    “Lead the way.”
    I walk on, and Sarah follows. As I pass my father’s Lexus at the edge of the lot, I uncoil with anger and enthusiasm a phrase of disgust: “Materialistic asshole.”
    As I look back at Sarah, she’s making purposeful, thrusting strides to keep up. When I reach my Mazda I turn my gaze toward the hills west of the Valley. The sky, set afire by the descending sun, is a dazzling reddish-orange.
    Sarah approaches and says, “Why did you say that back there? Whom were you talking about?”
    “Nobody.”
    “I won’t tell, I promise.”
    “Forget it. I was talking about the congressman, okay? A full-blown egoist. Now you can run and tell your mommy.”
    “You should learn not to make personal remarks. It’s very rude. I think you’re charmingly anarchic, but why are you being so petulant? I didn’t do anything to you.”
    “I’m feeling joyfully venomous. I’m a cynical idealist. You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Try me, I skipped fourth grade and I have the requisites to take college courses in the eleventh grade. I read extensively, and I speak Spanish, almost fluently. You’re the one who thinks he’s superior.”
    “You’ve quite a vocabulary for a little girl.”
    “Mock me all you want. I have been reading at the adult level for some time. I just finished Kate Chopin’s
The
Awakening
. I have an encyclopedic memory, and in the fall I will study French, and American Literature.”
    “The British writers, Huxley, Orwell, that’s where it’s at, not to mention Blake, Keats and Shakespeare.”
    “I’ve read
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
and
Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There
, and more recently,
Romeo and Juliet
,” Sarah says. “It was so romantic, particularly the ending, but I do admit that for Shakespeare’s English I had constantly to refer to explanatory notes. I just don’t know why you’re being so, oh, you know.” She looks at me with good-natured reproach, shaking her head.
    I decide to veer towards plain candor. “Look, my mother died just six months ago and now my father, looking dapper in his ostentatious suit, brings your mother, and you, into the picture and he wants to send me away for the summer. He would have us believe that the government, made up of people like him, is going to save us from our plight with the moon. He wants to sell the house I’ve lived in for fifteen years, would have me major in professional greed at college, didn’t bother to attend my high school graduation because his political meeting was more important, and all I want is to get my girl back.” I add, with a hint of bitterness, “You’re the classic only child, snotty and self-absorbed. You were no doubt an eagerly awaited baby, born with a sense of theater, of carefully choreographed exits and entrances. Don’t bug me, Queen Alice.”
    Sarah’s pale skin blushes pink as a carnation. I sigh expressively. I hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings. Sarah is as direct and truthful as I am devious and dishonorable. I’ve behaved with gross insensitivity, blowing it as usual.
    Sarah looks so sad I fear she’s going to cry again. “I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “Poor little rich girl, what does
she
know about suffering? Well, I’ll tell you something, you’re not the only one who’s lost a parent.”
    “What’s
that
mean?”
    “My dad, two years ago. His fighter jet crashed in the South Pacific during a storm. He went down in rough seas and was never found. I still want to believe he’s out there somewhere, like on a little island or