Snap (12 page)

Danya quickly explained about the map. “I thought it's what you would do,” she added. Pia shook her head.

“Are you kidding? I'd never be brave enough to do that! What if you'd fallen off one of those propellers?”

“I don't even want to think about that,” Danya said, shuddering. But she couldn't help grinning—she'd done something even Pia was too scared to do. That had to be worth something, right?

“Hey! You girls!” called a voice from the direction of the house. The grin dropped off Danya's lips, and she whirled around, nearly tripping over a goat nibbling at the hem of her jean shorts.

A girl crossed the yard toward them. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than Danya and Pia, and she had short, wispy red hair pulled back in pigtails that stuck out from her head like antennae. She wore an oversize muumuu that dragged on the ground behind her.

“What are you doing in my backyard?” she demanded, propping her hands on her hips. A goat started sniffing at her muumuu, but the girl gave him a sharp look, and he backed away with an indignant bleat.

“I . . . uh . . . you see, my map . . .” Danya muttered, but one of the goats was licking at her socks, and she was so distracted she couldn't seem to force the words from her mouth.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Pia explained as Danya gently shoved the goat away with her sneaker. “We'll leave.”

The girl stared Danya down, her brown eyes narrowing into teeny, tiny slits. Then she turned to Sancho, and her eyes grew even narrower—until Danya couldn't be certain they were still open at all.

“I suppose you're hoping I won't notice y'all are runaways, right?”

Danya and Pia shared a look, and Danya felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Runaways?

“What makes you think we're runaways?” Danya asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“There are posters with your faces on them plastered all over the city,” the girl said, moving closer. “Plus I've heard the news report about the missing girls and their pet pony at least three different times today. And, oh yeah, there's an Amber Alert on every major highway in the United States. I even know your names—Danya, Pia, and . . . Sanchez, right?”

“Sancho,” Danya said numbly. Every muscle in her body clenched. There were
posters
everywhere? And radio programs and Amber Alerts all across the country? Everything Danya had suspected was true—her parents were worried, and everyone was looking for them. This was a disaster. The girl stood face-to-face with them, now just inches away. Danya adjusted the fake nose that Pia had let her borrow to disguise her identity. Pia grabbed her hand and squeezed. Even she knew they were done for—
doomed
.

“Don't look so devastated,” the girl said, clapping Danya on the back. “Even though you were trespassing, and damaging my property, and probably plotting to steal my goats, I might be convinced to make you a deal. See, my horse, Boxer, has a bad leg and isn't able to run today. Which is a problem, because I got a yard full of goats that need to be rounded up before tomorrow morning so I can drive them off to the Louisiana. You let me borrow your little pony for an afternoon of work, and I won't tell the cops where you are. How's that sound?”

“Why do you have a yard full of goats?” Pia asked at the same time Danya excitedly spit out, “How are you getting to Louisiana?”

The girl looked back and forth between the two girls. “What do you mean how am I getting there? I've been driving since I was nine years old, and I have a truck with a trailer attached for the goats,” she explained to Danya. Then, turning to Pia, “The goats are part of my business. So what do you two say? We have ourselves a deal?”

Before answering, Danya glanced down at the map still clenched in her hands.

“If you let us hitch a ride south with you, we do,” she said, shoving the map back into her pocket. “We're trying to get to Florida.”

“Florida, huh?” The girl screwed up her lips, thinking. “Well, I supposed I could be convinced to take you as far as . . . New Orleans?”

Danya and Pia shared an excited look. New Orleans! Getting a ride that far south would
more
than make up for the morning they'd wasted wandering around Memphis!

“Deal!” Danya said, sticking out her hand to shake. The girl shook, a smile splitting her face.

“The name's Circe,” she said, pronouncing it
Sir-see
. “Of Circe's Goats and Cleanup Crew. Good to meet you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Forbidden Fruit of Juggs Casino

S
ancho thundered around
the goats in Circe's backyard, hooves kicking up clouds of dirt as he ran. Danya clung to his neck, and behind her stood Pia, her sneakers shoved beneath Sancho's saddle for balance.

“Heel!”
she shouted at the top of her lungs. She gripped Danya's shoulder with one hand and waved at the stampeding goats with her other. “Heel, goats, heel!”

“You keep saying that!” Danya yelled up at her friend. “I don't think you know what it means.”

“It's working, isn't it?” Pia called back down.

Meanwhile, Circe sat comfortably on an old lawn chair, her feet propped on an overturned bucket. While the girls worked, she ate a sandwich, lazily turning the pages of a paperback novel. It wasn't until they'd gathered the goats around her truck that Circe put her book down and sauntered over to the trailer to unlock the latch.

“Good work,” she said to Danya and Pia as the goats tromped up the gate to the trailer and huddled together inside. “Now, if you want a ride, you better hurry.” She tapped her bare wrist like she was wearing a watch. “We're on a schedule.”

Circe helped Danya load Sancho into the trailer with the goats. Then, after giving him a quick kiss on the forehead to say goodbye, the girls crowded into the truck's main cabin. To their surprise, Circe pulled two more sandwiches out of her glove compartment.

“Better eat these,” she said, tossing a sandwich to each of the girls. “You look like you're about to drop dead from hunger.”

Danya tore into the sandwich, unable to believe just how good plain old peanut butter and jelly could taste on an empty stomach. Next to her, Pia downed her entire sandwich in a single bite.

“Dees er so gud,” she said through a crumb-filled mouth.

While they drove, Pia peppered Circe with questions about her life: How was it that she got to live on her own when she was so young? How'd she make any money? In exchange, Circe told the girls all about her goat business.

“People from neighboring cities hire me and my goats to come in and clean up the litter from their parks and schools and highways,” she explained, though Danya was so nervous she could barely focus on what she was saying—Circe was a
terrible
driver. She was too short to reach the pedals, so she kept a brick on the gas. She steered with one hand, tapping a beat out on the side of the truck with the other. It made Danya so uneasy that every few minutes she tested her seat belt to make sure it still worked.

“Goats are great animals for a farm, you know?” Circe continued, whistling a completely different tune from whatever she was tapping on the roof of her truck. “
Much
better than pigs. And my goats will eat anything, so business is booming.”

“Pigs?” Pia asked. Unlike Danya, Pia seemed to love Circe's driving style. She sat sideways in her seat so she could stick her legs out the passenger-side window, and whenever she wasn't asking questions, she yodeled along with Circe's strange, off-key whistling.

After a few hours of tapping and whistling and yodeling it was enough to give Danya a headache. And then there was the snorting from Sancho and bleating from the goats out back—Danya couldn't help wondering if they were trying to sing along, too.

“Yeah, I used to sell pigs,” Circe explained. “And peaches, but, uh, that didn't turn out so well. Don't ask. Anyway, the goats are new. I've been wanting to make a fresh start.”

At a sign pointing the way to New Orleans, Circe took a sharp turn, causing the entire truck to rock. Danya slid over her vinyl seat, nearly hurtling into Pia's lap. Hair hanging over her eyes, she pushed herself back up, blowing the thick curls away with a puff of air.

That's when she saw it: red and blue police lights flashing in the rearview mirror. For a moment she was so shocked that all she could do was open and close her mouth wordlessly.

“Cops!” she finally croaked, at the exact same moment a robotic voice issued from the police car's speakers:

“We know Danya and Pia Ruiz are with you,” the voice said. “Pull to the side of the road immediately!”

Eyes narrowing into thin slits, Pia whipped around to face Circe.

“You!” she yelled. “You traitor! You called the cops on us!”

“I . . . I didn't.” Circe's face was pale as she watched the police cruiser approach. “I . . .”

“You're the only one who knew where we were,” Danya said. “It
had
to be you.”

“Pull to the side of the road!” came the voice from the cruiser. Circe's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror. A resigned look passed over her face, and she pulled up on the emergency brake. The truck skidded to a stop, and Danya shot forward, her seat belt cutting into her neck as it stopped her short.

“Look,” Circe said, glancing again at the rearview mirror. “I didn't call the cops—I swear it. There was a time when I would have done that sort of thing, but I'm trying to start fresh. Turn over a new leaf, you know?”

“Why should we believe you?” Pia shot back. Circe closed her eyes, then shook her head.

“I had a friend in a similar situation once. Or she would have been a friend, but I messed everything up. I'm not going to make that mistake again.

“Besides,” she added after a short pause. “I'm going to get in a lot of trouble when they find out I'm driving. I don't
exactly
have a license, being only thirteen and all.”

Danya studied Circe's face—she looked sincere. “I believe you,” she said finally.

“Guys, this is a nice moment and all, but we're about to be captured by the cops!” Pia said.

“Don't worry about it.” Circe pushed open the driver's-side door, a determined look on her face. “I'll take care of it, okay? Just ahead is an old dirt road most people don't know about. Follow it south and you'll get to New Orleans, no problem.”

“What are you going to do?” Danya asked. Circe took a deep breath.

“Release the goats!” she yodeled. Then she hopped out of the car and raced for the trailer.

“What does
that
mean?” Danya asked, but Pia didn't stop to answer her. Grabbing her arm, she kicked her own door open and pulled Danya out.

“I think it means she's going to
release
the goats
,” Pia whispered, motioning for Danya to duck as the two of them crept around the back of the truck.

Circe snuck toward the police cruiser, bending low so the officer couldn't see her. When he leaned over to grab his radio, she raced toward the back of the trailer and quickly pulled out the latch.

“Hey!” the officer called, fumbling with the radio as he pushed open his car door. “You're supposed to stay in your vehicle.”

But he was too late. The goats tumbled out of the back of the trailer in an avalanche of fur. Bleating and snorting, they raced for the officer in a terrifying stampede. His eyes grew wide. He stumbled back a few steps.

“Wait . . . no!”

And then they were upon him, chewing at his shoes and pants and the sleeves of his shirt. He tried grabbing for his nightstick, but a brown-and-black-spotted goat got to it first.

“
Meh eh eh!”
it cried, chomping down on the stick with its front teeth. The police officer pulled the nightstick away, then lost his balance in the struggle. Hair flew in all directions as he went down and the goats moved in on him, licking his cheeks and forehead with tiny pink tongues.

Just then Sancho crept out of the back of the trailer, his tail tucked between his legs.

“Sancho!” Danya hissed, her heart aching. He looked so confused! At the sound of her voice, he trotted over to the side of the truck, relieved to be away from the goat mob.

“Go!” Circe peeked around the side of the trailer, waving at Pia and Danya to run.

“We can't leave you!” Danya insisted. “How will you get the goats back in the trailer? You need our help!”

Circe just scoffed, shaking her head.

“I'll get them into the trailer one goat at a time, just like I always did before you two troublemakers came along.” She smiled then, waving them on. “I can take care of myself.
Now, go!
”

“Thank you!” Danya mouthed wordlessly. Then she, Sancho, and Pia raced for the windy dirt road that would lead them to New Orleans.

• • •

The girls took turns riding Sancho down the road, the air around them so hot and humid it felt like they were inside a mouth. As they got closer to the city, Danya could feel her nerves whirring to life inside her. The more people around, the more chances someone would figure out who they were. Eventually they made their way to a street filled with yellow, pink, and green houses. Lush vines and flowers dripped from overhanging balconies, and old-fashioned lamps dotted the sidewalk. Danya froze, watching the people stroll down the streets.

“Maybe we should go around New Orleans,” she whispered to Pia. She adjusted the fake nose propped on her face. “This is bad news—someone here will recognize us for sure.”

“If we go around the city, there's no chance we'll find a ride,” Pia pointed out. “Just act like you belong, and no one will notice you.”

The girls and Sancho started to cross the narrow street, then leapt back onto the sidewalk as a carriage driven by a man in a velvet cape and top hat rolled past them, nearly taking off their toes. It wasn't until the carriage disappeared in a cloud of dirt that they felt safe enough to try again.

“Maybe we can get Sancho a job pulling one of those things?” Pia said. She coughed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the remaining dust from the air.

“You know we're supposed to stay
under
the radar.” Danya tugged on Sancho's ear to get him to move a little faster—she didn't want to get trampled by another carriage.

“Snap, I was joking. And besides, in case you didn't notice—we're broke.”

Danya pursed her lips. She couldn't exactly argue with that.

“Ooh! Your pony is
so
cute!” someone said from across the street, interrupting Danya's thoughts. Sancho seemed to enjoy their attention. He shook his mane out, trotting in place while Danya swiveled around in her saddle. To her horror, two women teetered toward them on dangerously tall stiletto heels. They were beautiful, with intricately curled hair, heavy eye makeup, and layers of multicolored beads glittering from their necks. Danya gaped as they approached. Now that the women had seen them, they couldn't hide or run away, so Danya crossed all her fingers and toes for luck, hoping they wouldn't recognize them.

As the women came closer, Danya realized they both looked
exactly
like a character from the fourth Ferdinand and Dapple book—Dulce, the tavern girl Ferdinand was helplessly in love with. Danya had always loved how her grandmother described Dulce's cascading, raven-colored curls and glittering beaded necklaces. For a second she forgot her nerves, admiring the women's hair and jewelry.

The women stopped in front of Sancho and patted him on the nose. “Aren't you a purty pony? Oh, you're such a purty pony!” one of them cooed. Sancho snorted, and Danya thought she detected a blush creeping over his fur. He stood up a little taller, tossing back his mane.

“What are y'all doing out here?” the second woman asked. A plastic name tag attached to her tank top said her name was Tina. “You're too little to take this town on your own! Where are your parents?”

Danya felt some of her nerves ease up a little. At least the women didn't seem to know who they were—that was a good sign. She tried to think of an explanation fast, but it was Pia who answered.

“See, we were on this tour group that was just here, but a carriage whizzed past and kicked up all this dust, and when the air cleared, the rest of the group was gone.”

The two women shared a look. “How about you come along with us,” Tina said. “You got a number you can call, don't you? We'll let you borrow a phone so you can find the rest of your group. Maybe grab you a soda while you wait?”

“No thank you,” Danya said at the same time Pia said, “That sounds great!” Danya tried to shoot her cousin a “we're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves!” look, but Pia carefully avoided her eyes.

“We work across the street at Juggs,” the other woman said. “We're waitresses. My name is Molly.”

“I'm P . . . rissy,” Pia said, changing her name at the last second. She winked at Danya. “And this is Dakota. My sister.”

They all shook hands, and Molly and Tina ushered them across the street, not listening to their protests.

“What are we doing,” Danya said under her breath. “We don't have anyone to call, and the longer we hang out with them, the more likely they are to recognize us!” Pia waved her worries away.