Behind her the looming bulk of the record store presented a blank wall to the street all the way down to the park. As soon as she was out of sight of Eastman Avenue, she stopped and stood as still as a deer, backpack swinging from her hand, eyes desperately scanning Montevideo for cover.ĭirectly opposite her was a vacant lot and beside that a Thai restaurant, closed. Her eyebrows were straight, like two decisive brush strokes, and her forest-green eyes were dark as pine needles and even more serious than usual. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of them: a slender girl with hair that Michael had once said was the color of honey in sunlight. Back straight, stubbornly pretending she was perfectly calm, Jenny walked by the darkened windows. The Tower Records on the corner of Eastman and Montevideo was no longer in business. She’d go right on Montevideo, and then she’d find a store to duck into, a place to hide until the two guys had passed by. While you’re crossing they can catch up to you.Īll right, then, she’d turn off before that, she’d go right on this next street up here-what was it? Montevideo. You have to cross over at Joshua Street to get to the store-but that means crossing left, to their side of the street. The footsteps slowed.ĭon’t look back, she told herself. From behind and to the left she heard the flat smack of running shoes and the clack of bootheels. She slowed again, her feet in their lace-up canvas Tretorns making no sound on the dirty sidewalk. If only those two guys would turn off onto another street. Not at all the place to be at dusk-but it wasn’t dusk yet, Jenny told herself fiercely. They were like bandaged eyes turned toward her. After the last riots the police had cleared things up, but many of the vandalized stores still had boarded windows, which gave Jenny a creeping feeling between her shoulder blades. She hadn’t realized, though, that Eastman Avenue had gotten quite so rough. This wasn’t the best neighborhood in town, and she’d come here specifically because she didn’t want any of her friends to see her. There were two of them, one dressed in a black T-shirt and leather vest, with a black bandanna on his head, the other in a long flannel shirt, black-and-blue plaid, unbuttoned. They matched their pace to hers when she slowed to pretend to look in a store window, they slowed, too. They were still behind her, on the other side of the street but definitely following.
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