Chasing the Skip Read Online Free PDF

stick my tongue out at him. That would be a totally third-grade move, not really good for convincing him I could deal with hearing about skips.
    “I mean it,” he said. “Go.”
    I groaned but flipped my legs over the side of the bed and hopped down beside him, nearly whacking my hip on the edge of his folding chair.
    If Jamie was here, he’d know what to say to get around Dad. He was really good at talking people into things. He’d find some excuse for us to get out of here. Maybe he could steal his cousin’s motorcycle and drive to get me. Then I could ride behind him and breathe him in.
    I ran through the rain and hopped up into the cab with my books. The sun had disappeared behind thick clouds. It’d be setting soon anyway. If I went back into the trailer, Dad would see me working and know that he’d won. But if I stayed here, he’d wonder where I’d gone and then maybe come out here to check up on me. And I’d be sitting here doing my work like a good girl, and he’d feel sorry.
    But I didn’t start my homework. Instead I spread my notebook across my lap, writing in the dim light.
    Ian Burnham is seventeen , I wrote. And he’s already gotten arrested and jumped bail. I wondered where we’d find him and what he’d be like. Having someone close to my age around had to be an improvement over being alone with Dad—even if he was a skip.

 
    Denver, Colorado.
    Days since Mom left: 30.
    Distance from Salt Lake City, Utah: 543.16 miles.
    4
    The first place Dad was going to look for Ian Burnham was his house in Aurora.
    “Does Ian live with his parents?” I asked as we drove out, leaving the trailer behind. The morning sun shone off the road, and I blocked the glare with the newspaper Dad had bought me that morning in the trailer-park office. The thing was so big, I had to block the whole window with it if I wanted to read a story at the bottom of the page.
    But I had my own story brewing, and I wanted information.
    “His aunt has custody,” Dad said, “so he was living with her when he got arrested.”
    “Are his parents dead?”
    “His mom’s in rehab.”
    “Like, for alcohol?”
    “Like, for drugs.”
    “So why doesn’t he live with his dad, then?”
    “The dad’s in jail for domestic abuse.”
    Jeez. That meant Ian had it even worse than me, which at the moment was saying something. “His dad hit his mom?”
    “Not that I know of,” Dad said. “The parents are divorced. Looks like the dad was living with a girlfriend.”
    “So, how long has Ian been with his aunt?”
    Dad rolled his eyes at me. “I have his legal information, not his biography.” Dad patted his clipboard. “I also didn’t memorize it.”
    “Can I see it?”
    “No, you can’t.”
    Blah. I’d have to look at it when Dad wasn’t around. “Do you really think he’s still at his aunt’s place?”
    “She’s the one who paid Cal to post bail, so I’m guessing if he was still there, she’d have dragged him to court herself. But she’s out the bail money now, so she might be willing to give me an idea where he’s gone. Jilted relatives are my number one source of information. Skips have usually pissed off someone or other. All I have to do is find that person.”
    I picked up my notebook, but Dad looked meaningfully down at the uncracked book in my lap— Ethan Frome for my past-due report. I’d tried to bury it under the newspaper, but it was peeking out.
    I’d have to write that information down later. All this advice would make a great blog post—how to skip bail and not get caught. Don’t piss off your relatives. Don’t stay home. Don’t worry about your mail.
    I folded the newspaper, though it didn’t seem to crease back together the way it had come. I opened Ethan Frome and stared at the title page again. If I made it a goal to get through three pages a day, I might finish the book sometime this century. Today I could do the title page, the dedication, and the first page of the introduction. It was a