Kathy Hogan Trocheck - Truman Kicklighter 02 - Crash Course Read Online Free

laugh, not like any laugh he’d ever heard from Jackie, scared him almost as much as nearly being splattered all over the blacktop.
    Ollie got to his feet. “Jackie? You tried to kill me? On purpose?”
    “Check it OUT!” she yelled. “What do you think of my new wheels, Ollie?”
    “My knees are bleeding,” he pointed out. “And look. I got tar on my good new shorts.”
    The crotch of the baggy orange shorts hung to his knees, which were indeed slightly scratched up. And his high-topped white cotton crew socks were streaked with tar and dirt, his thick-lensed glasses askew.
    “I’m sorry,” Jackie said. “I guess I got carried away. What do you think? Isn’t it cool?”
    Ollie straightened his glasses and stepped up to the Corvette, running his finger down the glistening red hood, whistling in admiration.
    “You can make it up to me,” he told her. “Let me drive.”
     

Chapter FOUR
     

    At breakfast Sunday, the youth hostel kids pushed their tables together and were noisier, sloppier, and ruder than usual.
    Or so it seemed to Jackie. Her feet hurt. She and Ollie had walked all the way back to the hotel after the Corvette broke down while they were joyriding out on the beach. Neither of them knew anything much about the way cars worked, they’d had only a dollar in cash between them, and Jackie had been too proud to call anybody to tell them her brand-new used car wouldn’t crank. If she’d been alone she might have tried hitchhiking, but Ollie was sure that the only people who picked up hitchhikers were homicidal maniacs.
    So they’d walked. And walked. And arrived back at the hotel around two a.m. And she’d had to get up at six to work the first breakfast seating at seven.
    She slammed plates caked with maple syrup and egg smears into a bus tray and snarled at anybody who asked for seconds of anything.
    Ollie never came to Sunday breakfast, which cost a dollar more than weekday breakfast because you got bacon and ham, plus hash browns and a lot of other stuff. He usually slept late, had peanut butter crackers and orange soda in his room, and showed up starved at dinnertime.
    Truman didn’t materialize until the second sitting. Nearly eight o’clock.
    He’d gotten in late, too, around one, but unlike Jackie, he was beaming now with energy and conviviality.
    “Hello, Sonya,” he said, passing Mrs. Hoffmayer. She was so shocked by this sudden show of friendliness that she coughed and sputtered bits of french toast all over her chin.
    “Hello, KoKo,” Truman said to the small dog whose head poked up from Mrs. Hoffmayer’s lap. The dog pricked up its ears and bared its teeth, remembering the last time Truman had shown him any attention. The incident had involved white paint and necessitated an expensive and unattractive new grooming style for KoKo.
    “Don’t touch him,” Mrs. Hoffmayer screeched.
    Truman smiled and made his way to the corner table.
    He had to signal Jackie twice to get her attention. Finally she trudged over with a tray of steaming food, and slid the bowls of food noisily onto his table.
    “You’re late,” she said.
    Truman eyed the offerings with frank disappointment Only one biscuit in the bread basket, two shriveled strips of bacon, and an anemic-looking slice of ham. He touched his finger to the grits. They were cold. The eggs, too. And Jackie was obviously in a foul mood.
    “Coffee?” he asked.
    “It’s brewing,” she snapped. “And don’t say nothing about the food, ‘cause those damn hostel kids came through the first seating like a horde of locusts. You’re lucky to get this.”
    Truman took a biscuit and slathered it with butter. She hadn’t brought any of his strawberry jam, but he was in too good a mood to let her sour his morning.
    “You seen Ollie?” Jackie asked.
    “No,” Truman said. “Why?”
    She shrugged. “I thought maybe he told you about what happened last night. About my new car. How it broke down.” She glared at him reproachfully.