tailbone. She shook her head. "Or other
stuff."
"Well, remember, everyone here knows
everyone. If those two had gotten suspicious we would quickly have
had every eye in the town on us while we stole clothing and
transportation." Jericho pretended to nuzzle the top of her head,
glancing behind them.
Chloe gnashed her teeth in a little guilty
wince. "I don’t feel good about stealing from these people," she
said, looking up at him. "They have so little as it is."
Jericho shrugged, breaking away from their
charade now that they were out of notice. He readjusted his
backpack. "If it would make you feel any better, leave them your
bracelet." He nodded at her arm.
Chloe bought her wrist up to study the
bracelet. The piece was made from polished orange-red beads, spaced
with perfectly round, metal, gold ones. She'd only gotten the
bracelet because the beads matched her shirt so well—the shirt she
would be leaving, too. "This isn't worth much," she told him.
"I think your slinky top will make someone
here very happy all on its own, no matter the expense. It beats
anything we'll be taking."
Chloe looked down on the shirt, lifting the
bottom out and frowning at the slinky material, rubbing it between
her fingers. "I really liked this top," she muttered. The color
reminded her of a sunset, and the material was cool to her skin
even under the hot Brazilian sun.
Jericho looked at her off the shoulder top,
more so her bare shoulder, as though he really liked it, too,
causing Chloe to blush again.
"Finally," he said, stopping her. Jericho
glanced around them. The women walked on, far behind them now, and
turned the corner at the center of town. "Come on." He pushed her
into a fenced yard. There were only patches of grass, as though the
yard was constantly well trod. Children's bicycles had been tossed
down among a scatter of soccer balls, and at the far side of the
yard a grill had been fired up, but left unattended. Fresh laundry
fluttered from a line pulled tight between posts in the ground,
instead of hung overhead outside between buildings like most
others.
Chloe immediately slouched down to quickly
slide out of notice into the rows of drying shirts, pants, towels
and suchlike. Jericho, too, ducked so his head wouldn’t stick up
over the line, but he quickly skimmed the clothing and pulled down
a boy’s t-shirt with the logo for the World XI 2010 cup. He tossed
the dark-but-faded shirt to Chloe and continued down the line. She
turned the shirt over and held it out to inspect. A player's name,
Lúcio, arched in print across the top on the back over the number
3.
Jericho quickly returned with a pair of tan
pants similar to his own, but small enough to fit Chloe. He handed
them to her and ducked to the other side, to the next row. "Hurry,"
he called to her quietly.
A breeze wafted the clothing against her as
Chloe stuffed the stolen clothing between her legs. She slipped the
straps of her pack from her shoulders and dropped it to the ground,
then thrust her orange top over her head. The Brazilian sun beat
down on her bare skin from over the laundry rows, and the intensity
felt good for all of two seconds.
She quickly tossed down her top, and with
one longing glance to the pool of orange lying on the dirt, she
pulled out the stolen one and shimmied into the damp shirt, then
bent to pull her laces and stepped out of her boots. Looking over
to make sure Jericho was still on the other side of the line, she
flipped the button on her Hollister shorts and let the second-skin
jean material slide down her legs. Chloe stepped from the shorts
and made quick work of the new pants, drawing them up her legs,
zipping, and snapping the button, then stepped into her hiking
boots.
"Done," she whispered a minute later as she
double knotted the last lace on her boot. She picked up her pack as
she stood and thrust it back on.
Jericho flipped a towel
aside as he crossed back over and steered her from the laundry by
the arm. "We have to hurry.
stuff."
"Well, remember, everyone here knows
everyone. If those two had gotten suspicious we would quickly have
had every eye in the town on us while we stole clothing and
transportation." Jericho pretended to nuzzle the top of her head,
glancing behind them.
Chloe gnashed her teeth in a little guilty
wince. "I don’t feel good about stealing from these people," she
said, looking up at him. "They have so little as it is."
Jericho shrugged, breaking away from their
charade now that they were out of notice. He readjusted his
backpack. "If it would make you feel any better, leave them your
bracelet." He nodded at her arm.
Chloe bought her wrist up to study the
bracelet. The piece was made from polished orange-red beads, spaced
with perfectly round, metal, gold ones. She'd only gotten the
bracelet because the beads matched her shirt so well—the shirt she
would be leaving, too. "This isn't worth much," she told him.
"I think your slinky top will make someone
here very happy all on its own, no matter the expense. It beats
anything we'll be taking."
Chloe looked down on the shirt, lifting the
bottom out and frowning at the slinky material, rubbing it between
her fingers. "I really liked this top," she muttered. The color
reminded her of a sunset, and the material was cool to her skin
even under the hot Brazilian sun.
Jericho looked at her off the shoulder top,
more so her bare shoulder, as though he really liked it, too,
causing Chloe to blush again.
"Finally," he said, stopping her. Jericho
glanced around them. The women walked on, far behind them now, and
turned the corner at the center of town. "Come on." He pushed her
into a fenced yard. There were only patches of grass, as though the
yard was constantly well trod. Children's bicycles had been tossed
down among a scatter of soccer balls, and at the far side of the
yard a grill had been fired up, but left unattended. Fresh laundry
fluttered from a line pulled tight between posts in the ground,
instead of hung overhead outside between buildings like most
others.
Chloe immediately slouched down to quickly
slide out of notice into the rows of drying shirts, pants, towels
and suchlike. Jericho, too, ducked so his head wouldn’t stick up
over the line, but he quickly skimmed the clothing and pulled down
a boy’s t-shirt with the logo for the World XI 2010 cup. He tossed
the dark-but-faded shirt to Chloe and continued down the line. She
turned the shirt over and held it out to inspect. A player's name,
Lúcio, arched in print across the top on the back over the number
3.
Jericho quickly returned with a pair of tan
pants similar to his own, but small enough to fit Chloe. He handed
them to her and ducked to the other side, to the next row. "Hurry,"
he called to her quietly.
A breeze wafted the clothing against her as
Chloe stuffed the stolen clothing between her legs. She slipped the
straps of her pack from her shoulders and dropped it to the ground,
then thrust her orange top over her head. The Brazilian sun beat
down on her bare skin from over the laundry rows, and the intensity
felt good for all of two seconds.
She quickly tossed down her top, and with
one longing glance to the pool of orange lying on the dirt, she
pulled out the stolen one and shimmied into the damp shirt, then
bent to pull her laces and stepped out of her boots. Looking over
to make sure Jericho was still on the other side of the line, she
flipped the button on her Hollister shorts and let the second-skin
jean material slide down her legs. Chloe stepped from the shorts
and made quick work of the new pants, drawing them up her legs,
zipping, and snapping the button, then stepped into her hiking
boots.
"Done," she whispered a minute later as she
double knotted the last lace on her boot. She picked up her pack as
she stood and thrust it back on.
Jericho flipped a towel
aside as he crossed back over and steered her from the laundry by
the arm. "We have to hurry.
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