The Way to Schenectady Read Online Free PDF

I said, “let’s do it my way. There isn’t much time.”
    “NO.”
    My plan was starting to unravel. Bernie wouldn’t shut his eyes. I looked around and saw, to my horror, that two strangers had got out of their jeep and were hurrying over to help Bill. An elderly couple. White hair, white shoes. Shirts with flowers on them. The woman was clutching a half-eaten donut. The man reached up and grabbed Bill’s ankle.
    “Careful, Henry,” called the woman.
    My plan unraveled further. Dad stopped running. Bill was putting up a fight, but the man was stronger. He had Bill by the legs now.
    “Come on down, son,” he said.
    “Thanks!” Dad called out, checking over his shoulder to see what Bernie was up to. “Thank you so much!”
    “Isn’t it providential that we decided to stop here for gas?” said the woman.
    I clenched my teeth. It
wasn’t
providential at all. Grandma was heading back to the van. My plan wasn’t going to work. All I’d done was waste time and get Bill in trouble. Through the window of the van I saw Marty stop. His shoulders slumped.
    Grandma had her hand on the front door. Dadmarched to the van, looking relieved and angry. Bill shuffled slowly after him, looking apprehensive.
    Another idea bit me – just a little bite, a fleabite of an idea. I moved fast.
    “What was that click noise?” Bernie asked me.
    “I don’t know,” I lied.
Don’t run away, Marty,
I thought.
Stick around for another minute. Just one more minute. We’ll drive right past you. Just wait.
    Grandma got in. Dad got in. Bill got in. Dad started the engine, and drove away from the gas pumps.
    The light in the roof of the van stayed on. The warning bell rang. The robot voice that comes from the car company told us that a door was ajar.
    Dad stopped the van.

5

Something Stinks
    “Check your doors, please,” said Dad. He tried his. Grandma tried hers. The light stayed on. The alarm kept ringing
ding ding ding.
A helpful diagram of our van was lit up on the dashboard.
    “It’s the back,” I said, pointing behind me. “It’s open.”
    “How on earth did that happen?” asked Dad.
    Because I pushed the release button myself.
But I didn’t say that out loud.
    “I’ll close it,” I said, opening the side door and climbing out.
    Bill stared at me.
    We were stopped right beside the gas station. I swung the big trunk door open wide. Suitcases, bags full of laundry, and beach toys reached almost to the roof. I stood on tiptoe, but couldn’t see over them.
    “Jane!” called Dad. “Can you close the door?”
    “Sure,” I said. “I’m just arranging our stuff back here.”
    Marty was at my elbow. I shoved a bag out of the way, making a space in our trunk area. Good thing he was so small.
    “Do you want help?” Dad said.
    “No,” I said.
    “Can I have something to eat?” asked Bill.
    “No,” said Dad. “I’m upset with you.”
    Bill sighed.
    “Can I?” said Bernie.
    “Me, too,” I said. Bill turned around to glare at me from the middle seat. Dad tossed a package over his shoulder. It flew all the way to the backseat, landing in my lap. Mints. I tore open the package and leaned forward to give one to Bernie, dropping one by accident in Bill’s lap.
    “Thanks,” said Bernie.
    Bill thanked me with his eyes.
    “Feeling better, Mother-in-law?” Dad asked, maybe because she was leaning more comfortably against the back of the seat.
    “Better than what?” She frowned at Dad.
    We drove on in minty silence.
    “Horsies,” said Bernie, pointing. I turned. Horses, all right. We had left the suburbs behind, and were out in farm country. The horses stood in the middle of a field, with their heads down, eating grass so green it looked plastic. The red barn in the background looked plastic, too.
    “Good, Bernie,” I said. “And what do horsies say?”
    “I want another mint.”
    In the car, nothing happens sooner than you think it’s going to. You imagine everything long before you see it; you anticipate