Runaway Twin Read Online Free Page A

in front of the post office.
    I told the woman behind the counter where I wanted to go.
    â€œHow old are you?” she asked.
    I knew from the Greyhound Web site that kids under fifteen couldn’t travel alone, so I said, “Fifteen.”
    â€œOne way or round trip?”
    â€œOne way.” I thought she might wonder why a kid my age would be going somewhere alone and not coming back, so I added, “I’m meeting my dad there. We’re going to go camping and then he’ll drive me home.”
    The woman printed out my ticket.
    There was a display of candy, potato chips, and other impulse-purchase items next to the counter. I picked up a package of Twinkies. “I’ll take these, too,” I said.
    â€œThe bus should be here in about ten minutes,” the woman said. “Have fun camping.”
    â€œThanks. My dad and I do this every summer.” The ease with which false statements rolled out of my mouth astonished me. I didn’t have much experience in telling lies, but I seemed to have a natural talent for it.
    Those lies didn’t hurt anyone, I told myself. I’m only making it harder for somebody to find me.
    I sat on the bench in front of the store and ate my Twinkies while I waited for the bus. Each time a car went past, I looked down at my lap so that the driver and any passengers would see the top of my head rather than my face. It was unlikely that anyone I knew would happen along, but I wasn’t taking any chances on being recognized.
    The bus rolled in right on time and disgorged two young men wearing Chicago Cubs T-shirts. I climbed aboard, handed the driver my ticket, and started down the aisle.
    I had hoped for a seat by myself, but that wasn’t a choice. There were double seats on each side of the aisle and at least one seat in each section was occupied. I wanted to sit toward the front. Did I want to sit next to a white-haired woman who was reading a paperback book, a teenage boy listening to his iPod, or a tired-looking young woman holding an infant? I chose Granny.
    I took off my backpack and held it in my lap. Since I was not carrying a separate purse, I had decided to hang on to the pack at all times, rather than put it in an overhead luggage space or in the storage area under the bus. I couldn’t chance losing my eight hundred and twenty dollars, which, after the hair dye, bus ticket, and Twinkies, was down to seven hundred sixty-nine dollars and change.
    As soon as I sat down, the woman beside me closed her book and smiled at me. I could tell she wanted a nice long chat. Even though I was quickly becoming a world-class liar, I did not relish making conversation with her for several hours, so I smiled, pointed at my throat, and said hoarsely, “Laryngitis. Can’t talk.”
    â€œOh, you poor dear,” she said. She opened her purse, dug around, and came up with a cough drop. “Maybe this will help,” she said.
    I mouthed thank you, unwrapped the cough drop, and put it in my mouth. Then I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and pretended to fall asleep. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes a slit, just enough to see that my seatmate was reading her book again.
    Although I was too wired to actually sleep, it was pleasant to ride along with my eyes closed. I imagined how it would be when I found Starr. I pictured her initial surprise, and then her joy. I saw us throwing our arms around each other and exclaiming at how much we still looked alike, even with my new hair color.
    She would tell me how much she had missed me, and how she had hoped to find me someday.
    We would probably stay up all night the first night, telling our life stories. Maybe we’d discover that we like to do all of the same things.
    In the article about the twins who had been separated at birth, then reunited as adults, it had turned out they liked the same food, played the same sports, and had similar jobs. They had even married