Sharing Sam Read Online Free PDF Page B

Smitty’s. That garage on Route 41.” He held up his hands as evidence. “That’s where I was today. Trying to resuscitate a ’78 Dodge. In my free time, I’m working on my bike. A guy I work with helped me dig it out.”
    “What about school, though?”
    “What about it?”
    “You know. How can you afford to miss?”
    “I can’t afford not to.”
    “But you’ll—” I looked at him, and he smiled vaguely.
    “I’ll what?”
    “Well, fall behind. Don’t you read the propaganda? Your GPA will drop. You’ll never graduate, your life will be over, and you’ll have to spend your days working as a—”
    “Mechanic?”
    “No, no.” I wanted to start over. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
    I stole a glance at him. At that moment Sam looked older than I was by decades. I felt the way I had a few summersbefore, when all my friends had gone to camp and I’d stayed home. They’d come back changed—wiser, flushed with secrets I couldn’t know. Sam made me feel like that.
    The rain was giving up. Sam gave me more directions, and I turned down a quiet two-lane road. We were far out in the country, a flat expanse dotted with the occasional trailer, small ranch house, or fruit stand.
    He picked up a muddy folder on the floor. “ ‘Save the Manatees,’ ” he read. “Those big walrusy things?”
    “This group I belong to is trying to get more sanctuaries set up.”
    “To save this big slug?”
    “Okay, they’re a little homely. But they’re on the verge of extinction. Manatees are kind of slow-moving, and they keep getting hit by motorboats. Man’s their only serious predator.”
    “That’s all it takes.” Sam set the pamphlet aside. “I suppose some people would point out that species are always disappearing—they always have, they always will. It’s easy to be an idealist and lose sight of the big picture.”
    “Actually, it’s not. Easy being an idealist, I mean.” I smiled. “Those meetings can be pretty dull. But I want to be a biologist, maybe work to protect endangered species or something.”
    Sam crossed his arms. “You’re an interesting girl, Alison.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m really pretty average.”
    “You shouldn’t say that.”
    “Why not? It’s true.”
    “Because you might start believing it.” He motioned. “Turn here. You can stop by the mailbox.”
    A battered black mailbox, tilting at a precarious angle, was perched under a scraggly pine. A hundred yards up a lumpydirt road sat a silver trailer, smooth and round as a loaf of unbaked bread. A very old car, a dull red Cadillac convertible, sat nearby, listing slightly into a muddy ditch. Everything seemed askew. It was like looking at an off-center painting.
    I felt Sam watching me. “So this is home?”
    “No,” he said, “but it’s where I live.”
    “I could drive you on up.”
    “No,” Sam said quickly. Then, more casually, “There’s no place to turn around.” He fingered the pamphlet on the seat. “You know, I didn’t mean … There’s nothing wrong with having ideals.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m pretty sure I used to have one or two.”
    “You should come to one of our meetings,” I suggested.
    “I don’t do groups.”
    “That’s what you said about horses. And you ended up riding.”
    “Desperate times, desperate measures.” He stared at the pamphlet thoughtfully. A huge, blubbery manatee smiled benignly from the cover. “Maybe sometime …”
    “What?” I tried not to sound too hopeful.
    “I was just going to say that maybe sometime, you know, if you’re not busy, you could show me one. A real manatee. Could be the photo isn’t doing this guy justice.”
    “I’d like that,” I said casually, in my very best imitation of a cool person.
    Sam hesitated. His eyes flicked to the trailer. His jaw was clenched, as if he were trying to stop the flow of words. I gathered from his sudden frown that he was having second thoughts about our going out.
    I