Free Chasing the Skip by Janci Patterson Page B

street.
    As we stopped for gas, the Bull pretended he needed to pee and then made a break for it, stealing a car right in front of us. His tires squealed as he sped out of the parking lot, smiling, and was gone.
    This was the part where I needed to describe the high-speed chase—the one Dad refused to have. Oh well.
    The hunt begins again.
    I wondered if it would work. By this point I’d be happy to receive any kind of message, even an angry one. Mom always said a jealous boyfriend was an attentive boyfriend.
    I posted the entry and logged off.
    Dad picked me up a few minutes later, pulling the trailer into the fire lane along the front of the building. I expected him to gun it out to go look for Ian, but instead he left the engine idling.
    “We need to talk,” he said.
    My heart pounded. “Did you hear from Mom?”
    He looked surprised. “No, nothing like that. We just need to talk about your behavior.”
    Crap. After Ian’s escape, I’d hoped I was off the hook.
    “What behavior?”
    “I know you hate me dragging you along, but you still need to listen to my instructions.”
    I kept my eyes on the dash. If I was going to get yelled at, might as well play dumb. Sometimes that worked to get Mom off my back.
    “What instructions?”
    Dad sighed. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you, Ricki. Would you look at me?”
    When I looked up at him, he was gripping the steering wheel with one hand. His brow creased as he looked me in the eye.
    “I think I’ve been unfair to you,” he said. “I’ve treated you like a little kid, so you’ve been acting like one.”
    I wanted to protest, but I knew what he meant. I’d been trying my best to do the exact opposite of whatever he asked me, which was five-year-old behavior at best.
    “Does that mean you’re going to stop yelling at me?”
    “I want us to come to an understanding. I know you want to help me out, and I’m happy for the help, but only if I know I can trust you.”
    I bit my lip. I hadn’t given him much of a reason to trust me. I wasn’t sure I trusted him, either. “And do you? Trust me?”
    Dad’s eyes flicked up at the ceiling, which I took for a big fat no.
    “Fine,” I said.
    “This isn’t coming out right,” Dad said. “Let’s park the trailer, and we can talk about it over dinner.”
    “More tacos?” I asked.
    “There’s a diner near the freeway. We can eat some sit-down junk food for a change.”
    “All right,” I said. At least I’d be able to eat a salad that hadn’t sat in a plastic container for days.
    The diner was right off the exit. The dining area only held about twelve tables, but they had a little salad bar and a dessert counter.
    Dad ordered a burger, but I got the salad bar and a cup of soup, since those things are hard to eat in the car. After we’d ordered, Dad put his elbows on the table and looked at me.
    “So what’s this stuff you’re always writing?” he asked. “I know it isn’t homework.”
    I didn’t want him making fun of my writing, but if I wanted him to trust me, I had to give him something.
    “I’m taking notes,” I said. “For my blog.”
    Dad raised his eyebrows. “You write about my work on your blog?”
    “Don’t worry,” I said quickly. “I don’t use any names, and I change the details. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
    Dad nodded. “I’m impressed you thought about that.”
    “We learned in journalism class about protecting our sources. I figure it goes double since you’re my dad.”
    “You’re taking journalism in school?”
    “I was before Mom left. That’s what I want to do when I’m older.”
    “That’s a good job, and you’re good at asking questions. We’ll have to see if there’s a homeschool course for it.”
    I’d thought the homeschool courses only came in boring subjects. “That would be cool,” I said.
    “Journalism can be dangerous, though,” Dad said. “Depending on the kind of reporting you’re doing, you can end up in some