Jailbait Read Online Free PDF Page B

ignition. Like Frank has magic powers or something. I glanceout the window and see we're in front of a white house that looks like your typical, basic two-story Long Island home, only kind of run-down.
    “You live here?” I ask.
    “Yeah,” Frank snorts. “Me and the president. C'mon.”
    He gets out and I open my door and hesitate. For the first time, I feel a little scared. I mean, just because I wave to Frank every day on the way home from school and he waves back doesn't mean I really know the guy. I don't think he's a total psycho or anything—I doubt he wants to kill me—but what if he's kidnapping me, and I'm going to have to live in this house out in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life chained to a radiator with nothing to eat but bread and water? Well, that's one way to lose weight, I guess.
    I look out at Frank, who's walking up toward the house, and just at that moment he looks back and smiles that award-winning smile of his that warms me like the sun. Then he turns and continues strolling like he's got all day, and for some reason that makes me want to hurry. I scramble out of the car but then stop. What about my knapsack? Should I take it? Yeah, right, like he's going to help me with my homework. I slip my hand inside my pocket and feel my Swiss army knife. I wonder if I could ever protect myself with it. I doubt it; I can't imagine stabbing a perfect stranger, let alone Frank with it, and besides, I hate the sight of blood. Still, I guess it's good I have it on me.
    I slam the car door shut and hurry after Frank like a little kid in a department store trying to keep up with hismother before she steps onto an escalator and disappears. But Frank doesn't disappear. He waits for me outside the house, and then when I catch up to him, he opens the front door, bows, and makes this grand, sweeping gesture with his arm. “Ladies first,” he says.
    “Thank you,” I answer, bending my knees into a little curtsey. As soon as I do it, I feel really stupid, but Frank just smiles, ushers me inside, and closes the door behind me.
    “Whose house is this, anyway?” I ask once we're inside. We're standing in a hallway surrounded by completely empty rooms. I guess the people who used to live here moved out and the new people haven't moved in yet. I go into the kitchen, which at least has some counters and cabinets and a sink in it, and turn the faucet just for kicks, but nothing comes out. Then I walk through another room with light blue walls and follow Frank up to the second floor. The stairs creak with every step. Three more rooms, all empty, all painted white, and a bathroom with a toilet, which I can tell just from looking at it doesn't even flush.
    “Nobody's,” Frank says from one of the rooms. His voice sounds spooky, like it's coming from inside the walls of the house itself.
    “What?” I ask, walking toward his voice. He's sitting on the floor in one of the empty rooms with his back leaning against a white wall, fishing a red and white pack of Marlboros out of his shirt pocket.
    “You asked me whose house this was,” Frank reminds me. He taps his pack until a few cigarettes stick out of thetop. “Nobody's,” he repeats as he takes the cigarette that sticks out the farthest from his pack and bounces it against the palm of his hand. For some reason that makes a shiver start at the small of my back and tremble up my spine. I put my right hand into my pocket and feel around for the lucky pink shell Mike gave me. It's there; I'm safe.
    “Smoke?” Frank asks. I sit down beside him, close enough to show I'm not afraid, but not too close since I am a little, and shake my head. I hate cigarettes. Shirley is a one-woman chimney and Fred smokes too, even though he's a dentist and should know better, and our whole house totally reeks.
    Frank sticks his cancer stick in his mouth, lights a match, and cups his hand around the flame as he brings it up to the cigarette. He sucks his cheeks in like he's