The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2) by Ramona Finn (no david read aloud .txt) 📕

back the curtain, smiling brightly. “Oh, Lock. You’re a picture.” She squeezed in between us, tugging expertly at his sleeves. “A stitch or two here, let out those shoulders, and...”

Lock’s eyes met mine, dark with worry.

“No promises,” I told him. “But I’ll be careful.”

Lock looked like he had more to say, maybe a whole lot more, but I didn’t want to argue. Not when my mind was made up. I gave him a wave and made my escape.

Chapter Fourteen

I lay in bed late the morning after our shopping trip, playing Tangerine Rampage on my phone. Lock had demolished my high score, but if I could just up my speed, keep popping those oranges—

An ad bubbled up, ruining my streak. I killed the app with a curse. Two days to go before my check-in with Reyland. Till then, I was stymied, just waiting and stewing, nothing to do. I heaved myself off the bed, rumpled in my pajamas. My hair was a mess, so I twisted it into a bun heading into the kitchen. Someone had filled the fruit bowl, so I grabbed an apple and polished it on my chest. I was about to bite into it when I thought of Jack. I hadn’t checked in on him since Sonia’s departure. He’d been quiet, depressed, maybe a little sick. I wondered if he’d been eating.

I headed downstairs, apple in hand. Jack had been to Lazrad Corp. He’d had his own ball, and maybe he’d gone exploring. I could kill two birds with one stone, bolster his spirits and pump him for intel. He was definitely home. I could hear him in there, banging around in his closet.

“Jack?” I knocked on his doorframe and poked my head in. “I was just—”

The words died on my lips as I took in the scene. Those workmen were back, folding Jack’s clothes into boxes. One of them spotted me and smiled thinly.

“Did you need something?”

“No. I guess not. I thought you were...” I let that thought go unfinished. “Sorry. I’ll be going.”

I backed out the way I’d come. I felt cold, cold and clammy, like stepping into a fog bank. That lump was back in my throat, sadness and fright, a choking sense of loss. Jack hadn’t been ready—he’d said so himself. I’m not going anywhere. Not for a good while yet. Three days ago, he’d said that. Three days, and that hardly seemed—

A yelp burst from my throat. I’d backed into someone coming down the stairs. My sock slid on the step, and I was falling, arms pinwheeling as my legs went out from under me. My apple flew over the railing and smashed five floors down. Birds squawked, indignant, and I felt myself lifted, caught under my arms and set on my feet.

“Easy, there.”

“Lock.” I grabbed his hand, heart pounding. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

I glanced over my shoulder—no sign of the movers. But they wouldn’t be long now, and I wouldn’t get another chance. I bounded downstairs, tugging Lock in my wake. He was still in his PJs, bare feet slapping on the landing.

“Wait, Myla—” He dug in his heels. I jumped down half a flight, nearly wrenching him off his feet. Lock grunted in pain.

“Sorry, just—”

“What’s going on?”

“Quiet. Just trust me.” I dragged him across the atrium and out of the house. The birds’ scolding followed us down the steps, drowning Lock’s protests.

“Myla!” He shook me off at the footpath and stood squinting in the sun. “I’m not going anywhere till you—”

“Those movers are back. The ones who took Sonia’s stuff.” I grabbed him by the shirt and kept running, muscling him down the path. “That’s their truck. We’ve got to hurry.”

“Hurry? Where?”

“We’re stowing away.” I picked up my pace, practically sprinting. “Jack wasn’t ready to move on. He told me the day Sonia left. He said he wasn’t going, but—”

“So you wanna... what? Find out where he moved to?”

“He didn’t move.” I was howling, I realized, bellowing in Lock’s face. “He didn’t,” I repeated, more quietly. “Wherever he went, it wasn’t his choice, and I think—I think he might be dead.” I seized Lock by his lapels and shoved him behind the truck. “I’m going to find out what happened. Are you with me or not?”

“I—”

“No time. They’re coming.” I let go of Lock and jumped into the trailer. It was empty inside, but for an old pile of tarps. I hunkered down behind them, head to my knees. Moments later, the trailer shook, and Lock squeezed in next to me.

“Just to keep you out of trouble.” He took my hand and squeezed it, then let go. We crouched there, breathing dust, for what felt like forever. Lock sneezed and I smacked him, and he stifled the next one. At last, the movers returned, and I felt Lock stop breathing.

“Just the three, this time. I think that’s a record.” I heard a thump, then two more, and then someone spitting.

“That guy a few years back, we fit all his stuff in one. It was weird, ‘cause he looked stylish, but his closet was—”

The trailer doors slammed shut. A weak light buzzed to life, and I noticed Lock’s feet.

“Your nails are pink,” I whispered.

“Shut up.”

“And sparkly.”

“Shut up more.” He tried to cover them with his pajama bottoms. “I thought it wouldn’t show much, if I picked a light color.”

I smothered a laugh in my sleeve as the truck began to roll. Lock choked back another sneeze.

“If I get carsick, it’ll be all over you.”

I snorted. “Yeah, try that. See what happens.”

The truck rattled down the hill, knocking us together like gumdrops in a bag. Lock breathed through his nose, slow and measured. I heard the sounds of a train station, the hubbub of foot traffic. A gate rattled in its tracks, and the sunlight vanished from the cracks as the ground swallowed us up. I smelled thick exhaust, heard Lock gagging. At last, the truck came to a stop, and I peered over the tarps.

“This is it.”

Lock pulled me back down.