Read A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest for Free Online Page A

times and I've managed to get myself on a Most Wanted poster. Nice one, Chris.
    "Still, I couldn't just sit there and let them cut off his hand!" I protest.
    Robin's face softens. "Aye. Forsooth, 'twas a selfless deed." He places a hand on my shoulder. "You are a brave lad."
    Thanks," I say, feeling my face heat at his compliment. Or maybe at his touch—it's hard to tell at this point. I wonder if now's a good time to reveal my inner female.
    "Well, fellow outlaw, will you join us for supper?" Robin asks. "I could introduce you to my men."
    Ooh. An invite to hang with the Merry Men. Now we're talking.
    "Sure," I say. "I'd be up for that."
    I decide to skip telling him I'm a chick. At least for now. He might get all protective and want to drop me off at a village where I'll be safe. After all, in these days, women were seen as fragile, delicate flowers not suited for cavorting with outlaws.
    If I have to be stuck in the 12th century until King Richard returns from his crusades, I at least want to live more of the legend before I'm relegated to some medieval kitchen.
     
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    Argh. My feet kill. I would give absolutely anything right now, even my rent-stabilized apartment, for a pair of Nikes. You won't ever know the pain of walking barefoot through a dense English forest for miles on end, but to give you an idea, it's worse than walking the length of Manhattan in two-sizes-too-small stilettos. Really. I've done both now, so I know.
    "Who goes there?"
    I jump back with a start as a man leaps from the bushes, bow and arrow drawn. Robin only laughs.
    "A bit jumpy are you, Much?" he asks.
    The man lowers his bow and flashes a toothy grin. He's tall and scrawny, with wild blond hair that sticks up in tufts. He wears a gray hooded cloak over a battered leather tunic and trousers.
    "Well, Robin, you canna be too careful," Much says. “The sheriffs men have been in the forest all day—searching for some poor bastard who avoided his taxes, I wager."
    Robin gives me a pointed look. "Much, I'd like you to meet Christian," he says, motioning to me. "Our guest for supper. We shall be roasting one of His Majesty's deer in his honor. If you care to join us, you would be most welcome at our table."
    Much's eyes light up as my heart sinks. Is this a good time to tell them I'm vegetarian? Or that I watched Bambi fifty-four times as a kid and have no desire to leave some poor fawn to face the winter without his mother?
    "Well met, Christian," Much says to me, bobbing up and down in a sort of half bow, half curtsey.
    "Well met," I repeat, deciding to keep quiet about the impending Bambi massacre. My situation is precarious here, and I don't want to appear ungrateful. I won't go as far as actually eating the deer, though; I don't want my PETA membership revoked.
    "We must be off," Robin says. "If we are to reach the lair by nightfall."
    "Hold on a second. Aren't we almost there?" I ask, peering up at the sun, which is still quite high in the sky.
    Robin shakes his head. "Nay, we have some distance still."
    Oh, man. More walking. I don't know if my feet can handle it. I lift my right leg and peer at the sole of my foot. It's black and bleeding. Lovely.
    Robin catches my examination and to my surprise pulls off his own leather boots. "Might be a bit large for you," he says, handing them to me. "But they are all I have with me. When we arrive at camp, I will find you some proper footwear."
    "But what are you going to wear?" I ask, trying to be fair even though I desperately want those shoes.
    He shrugs. "My feet are tough and used to walking." He holds out the shoes and I take them with immense relief.
    "Thank you so much." I crouch down to put them on my aching feet. They're almost four sizes too big and have no Dr. Scholl's shock-absorbing gel inserts, but they're a great improvement over my barefoot status. I can't believe the guy's literally given me the shoes off his feet. Danny would never even give me half the blankets in bed on a cold