Chapter Four

For the next two days I see the truck guy, as I've come to think of him, at school and at home. He's still never there when my parents might be around. It's the one thing he's really careful about. Other than that I don't really think he's all that wary. If this guy as after my mom and dad or after me, he isn't very good. Then again, maybe he isn't trying too hard. I'm just a kid after all. Little does he know I'm not a normal kid. How can I be, with parents like mine? I know he's there, even if nobody else does, and I'm watching him.

Mom and Dad are just as worried as they were five days ago when I overheard the start of their whispered conversation at bedtime. They're still trying to pretend that everything is fine. I haven't called them out on it yet. If I do, they might become more protective of me. I have lacrosse practice today, and my friends and I always stop by this ice cream parlor that's next to the practice fields when we're done. Our parents pick us up from there. If Mom gets any more protective than she already is I may not be allowed to go. That would seriously ruin my Saturday.

On the way to practice Mom and I talk about school. She asks about my geography test, which I ended up getting an A- on, and the science fair project that I'm supposed to be starting to put together. I haven't decided on a topic yet, so we spend most of the ride trying to pick one. I want to do something cool, like with chemicals or fire. Mom refuses and threatens to ground me if I try.

I give her my most charming smile, complete with a touch of innocence.

"What if it's just a small fire?"

"What if I decide to ground you for the rest of the year?"

"You would have to watch me slowly wither away to nothing," I tease. "Being locked away in my room would totally inhibit my growth and development."

Mom shoots me a look.

"Nice try, Mister."

I shrug, totally unconcerned by her continued refusal. It isn't like I'd expected to win anyway.

"It was worth a try."

We reach the practice field soon after that, and she parks. I start gathering up all of my equipment and tossing it on the concrete outside. Mom sighs at me. She hates it when I'm so rough with my things, but considering what they all go through doing a practice or game being tossed on the ground is nothing.

"Where's my…?"

"Check under the seat," she answers before I can even finish the question.

I shove my hand under the seat and quickly find the missing lacrosse ball. No matter how often I lose it she always seems to know where it wound up. I have no idea how she does it.

"Thanks. I'll see you later," I say and close the car door.

"Try not to get any more crazy science fair ideas into your head during practice."

"What if I test the strength of different materials with a chainsaw?"

"Mickey," she warns darkly.

"Kidding!"

I take off toward the group before she can prepare for the lecture I'm sure she wants to give me.

There isn't time during practice to wonder about the science fair, what's eating my parents, or the truck guy. I need to focus on what I'm doing. During the last game I almost beamed Tom in the head with a pass. My aim has a lot to be desired. If I don't want to knock one of my best friends out next time we play, I need to practice. My coach seems to think so too, and he works us hard. By the time practice is over I'm exhausted and seriously looking forward to ice cream. I think I've earned myself some hot fudge to go with it too. Most of my practice shots on the net were relatively on target. Well, except that one that was so far off to the left that it went flying onto the next field. I'm not counting that one. It was a fluke.

Tom, Jack, and I grab our equipment and toss it into separate duffle bags. Mom has never understood why I don't just throw my ball in there on the way over from practice so I don't lose it. I could, I guess, but then I wouldn't be able to play with it as we drive. We throw our bags over our shoulders and head out. Halfway across the parking lot I notice. He's here. The truck guy. In my shock I momentarily lose the thread of our conversation. When I pull myself together again they're still going on about practice. Good, I can use that to my advantage.

I jog two steps ahead of my friends and spin around so I'm facing them as I walk.

"Did you guys see Kenny's shot over Derik's head? It was like…"

I make almost a kamikaze airplane noise as I arc my arm up and back down in a replay of Kenny's amazing shot. They laugh, and I force myself to laugh along with them. It isn't all that hard if I just think about the look on Derik's face when it happened. I could have done all of this walking forward of course, but then I couldn't see the truck's plate number. This way I could look at it without actually looking like I was looking at it. Enough was enough. I was done with this truck guy. Showing up at my school and house is one thing, but lacrosse practice? I'm officially creeped out. Maybe even a little bit scared. Just a tiny little bit.

After I turn back around and slip into my spot between Tom and Jack I start running the letters and numbers through my head so I can memorize them. If I need to identify the specific truck I'll be able to now. I manage to hold the plate number in my mind until we order our ice cream. The return of the truck guy and remembering his license might have become the most important thing of the moment, but I didn't forget that I'd earned myself some hot fudge for such a good practice. It doesn't cost much more, so I have enough money to add it to my usual chocolate chocolate chunk. As long as I make sure I wipe the evidence from my face, my parents will never know.

I'm a good memorizer, but I don't want to take any chances here. Once I get my receipt I ask for a pen and quickly jot everything down on the back before cramming it into my pocket. My friends are so engrossed in their ice cream that they don't notice what I did. Good. I drop into a seat next to them and dig into mine. It's an amazing combination: hot fudge and cold ice cream. I might just need to lick the empty bowl when I'm done. Wouldn't want to waste any.

When my mom picks me up I'd already made up my mind to talk to her and Dad when we got home. The problem is I don't know how to start the conversation. It's not like I could just come right out and ask, "Are you worried that some guy in a truck might be after me? Because he's been following me around for days." That would go over really well. I try to come up with someone for the entire ride back but end up empty. Mom notices, I think, but she doesn't ask. Maybe she just thinks I'm trying to figure out my science fair project. At least I'll have more time to myself to think while I'm cleaning up. Maybe some spring clean soap will give me miraculous inspiration.

Author's Note: Just one chapter left after this everybody! Hope you like it!