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They continued their wild dash through town, lobbing eggs at the homes of teachers and other folks that Skip and Cody viewed as enemies. Trevor missed the target once but connected one other time before the older boys took over. At last, out of eggs and laughing until their sides ached, they stopped to rest outside a convenience store at the south end of town.
“Who’s thirsty?” Cody asked.
“All of us,” Skip said. “But who’s got any money?”
“I’ve got a couple of quarters my dad gave me for the phone,” Trevor said. “But that isn’t enough to buy sodas for all of us.”
“Never mind,” Cody said. “I’ve got an idea. Trevor, there’s one more thing you need to do before you can be in our club, okay?”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Go into this little store with us behind you. Get yourself a canned soda with your money. While you’re at the counter, talk the clerk up and distract him for a few minutes until we leave. Got it?”
“Sure.” Trevor’s instincts were tingling, as if trying to warn him that something wasn’t right. But these boys were counting on him. If he let them down, they wouldn’t be friends with him anymore. He couldn’t chicken out now.
Without looking at his companions, he sauntered into the store, studied the cold drink case, and picked out a Dr Pepper. With the ice-cold can in his hand, he took his time meandering back to the counter.
“Fifty cents.” The clerk, a gray-haired woman, had sharp, knowing eyes that seemed to look right through him.
Setting the can on the counter, Trevor fished the two quarters out of his jeans, grateful that he had the right amount. “So how’s your Halloween going?” he asked. “Do a lot of kids come in here trick-or-treating?”
“A few,” the woman said. “When they do, we let them take a candy from this bowl. Here, have one.” She held out a plastic bowl half filled with cheap, cellophane-wrapped hard candies. Trevor took his time making a choice, trying not to think about what his friends might be doing.
At last he settled on a red-and-white peppermint. As he thanked the clerk, unwrapped the candy, and popped it into his mouth, he heard the door open and close. Skip and Cody had made it outside. Trevor turned away from the counter and hurried after them.
“Wait!” the woman called after him. “You forgot your soda!”
But Trevor kept going. He could see his friends climbing onto their bikes. A sick feeling came over him. Were they about to ride off and leave him here?
But no, Skip was waiting for him. Cody glanced back through the window of the store. “She’s on the phone!” he said. “Probably calling the cops! Let’s get out of here!”
Trevor leaped onto the back of Skip’s bike, and the three of them sped south along the paved road out of town.
“Hold this for me.” Skip reached back and thrust something at Trevor. Trevor’s hand closed around the cold, wet beverage can his friend had shoplifted from the convenience store—with his own help, Trevor reminded himself.
He was expecting a soda. But something about the can felt different. Its shape was a little narrower and slightly taller than the pop cans he was used to.
Damn!It was beer—had to be. Trevor felt sick. Shoplifting was bad enough. But underage drinking was real trouble. And if they were to get caught, he’d be blamed along with his friends.
As the bikes flew along the road, a faint sound reached Trevor’s ears. It was the wail of a police siren, coming from the direction of the store, and now, coming up fast behind them. Red lights, still small with distance, flashed in the dark.
Trevor clutched Skip’s belt with one hand and the beer can in the other. He’d be smart to lob the beer into the bar ditch, but it was as if his hand had frozen around the cold can.
Not far ahead, a dirt road turned off the asphalt. Skip swung his bike onto it, almost throwing Trevor off the back. Cody followed. “Are we going to your place?” he asked as he caught up with his friend.
“Hell, no. My dad would kill me,” Skip said. “There’s a barn on the neighbor’s place. We can hide in there. The old man won’t even know we’re around.”
Trevor glanced back to see the police car making a turn onto the dirt lane. The bumpy surface had slowed them down some, but they were still coming. “Hurry!” he said. “They’re getting closer!”
With Skip in the lead, they flew through the open gate and into the moonlit barnyard. Trevor saw an old-looking two-story house. About twenty yards away stood a weathered barn. The door, which faced at an angle away from the house, was open at one end. The boys wheeled their bikes inside and laid them in the shadows. Trevor, who’d jumped out of the way, paused to look around.
He’d wondered whether there’d be animals here, but there appeared to be none. The moonlight that fell through the cracks between the shrunken boards revealed a tractor and a hay wagon, with other machine parts stacked against one wall. In the far corner of the barn, an object about the size of a compact car was hidden beneath a large canvas tarpaulin.
“Do you think those cops saw us come in here?” Cody asked.
Trevor peered through a space between the boards. He could see the police car approach the open gate and turn in. One of the windows must have been open, because he could hear the chatter of the dispatch radio.
Suddenly, as if summoned by an emergency call, the black-and-white car revved its engine, made a screeching U-turn in the yard, sped out the gate and back down the road, flying over the bumps and potholes.
