Counting by 7s by Holly Goldberg Sloan Page A

questionable.
    And that was Strange indeed.

    Once in his possession-choked apartment, Dell peeled off his stinky shirt and poured himself a tall glass of red wine.
    He next shoved a frozen meat loaf, which was supposed to be low in calories, into the microwave.
    The box claimed it served three people.
    He was trying to diet, but he always found himself eating the whole thing.
    Dell then maneuvered around his heaps of junk, and took a seat on his patio furniture, which he used indoors in his living room.
    He was surprised people didn’t realize that a decent chaise longue was much easier to move, yet still as comfortable as a couch.
    Most outdoor recliners had wheels for mobility, and you could hose off the cushion if you spilled a bowl of salsa—and who didn’t on occasion?
    Under ordinary circumstances Dell would have turned on the TV to some kind of reality show, and after consuming the meat loaf and enough wine, he would have fallen asleep, usually with his mouth open, which inevitably served as a spout for pink-tinged saliva.
    The saliva would have stained regular furniture, but it went right through the plastic weave of the lawn chair, which was another plus.
    Dell would wake up hours later and if he had the energy, make his way through the maze of his possessions to his bedroom, where he would crawl into a sleeping bag.
    This was another one of his lifestyle choices.
    Once a year he dropped the sleeping bag off at the dry cleaner’s. Forget the sheets and blankets and comforters and duvet covers! Modern life provided enough challenges without throwing in making the bed.
    But tonight Dell didn’t fall asleep in a small puddle of drool. He lay awake in his sleeping bag, which he believed had the smell of a brown bear (a mix of wet fur and dead leaves and empty wine bottles), thinking about the events of his day and the genius kid.

Chapter 12

    I had a plan.
    I’d been walking to Mr. Dell Duke’s office for my appointments, but now that I knew Mai and her brother would be there before me, I wanted to get there early.
    So I went online the following week and ordered a taxi to pick me up at the curb when school was over.
    This was a very brave and daring act for me.
    I waited in front of the sign that said SEQUOIA GIANTS , and the taxi arrived right on time.
    I believed we were off to a good start.
    I pulled my wheeled luggage to the cab door and leaned in through the open window as I said:
    â€œI would like the number of your taxi license and to see proof of your compliance with brake and headlight adjustment requirements.”
    The driver’s name was Jairo Hernandez, and he had been driving for Mexicano Taxi for seven years.
    I was nervous, but he seemed nervous as well.
    He did not appear, however, to be someone who would kidnap me and cut me up into small pieces.
    After I reviewed his paperwork (which took considerable effort on his part to locate), I got into the backseat.
    As we pulled away from the curb, he picked up his phone and his radio handset and talked to someone (maybe back in the office?). His voice was low.
    He didn’t realize that I am fluent in Spanish, as it was the language I learned after English.
    This is what he said:
    â€œ
At first I think I’m picking up some kind of little person going to the airport—because she has luggage. But then I get closer, and I see it’s just a girl. I’m telling you, man, it’s some kind of undercover sting operation. She asked for all my paperwork! I would have stepped on the gas and sped off, but she was leaning in through the window. This is harsh, my friend. If a kid can ambush you outside of a middle school, what’s next
?”

    Two things.
    I had never been in a taxi before.
    And I had never ridden in a car with a complete stranger.
    I was suddenly an explorer and a risk-taker.
    I could feel my heart pounding. It felt good. A smile spread across my face.
    I was on my way to see a new