Read Jumper 1 - Jumper for Free Online Page A

the first day I had jumped. I felt my face get hot and I stood up.
    "It really is you, David. I'm glad to see you're all right. Have you gone home then?"
    For some reason I was surprised that the school knew I'd run away. I started to agree. It was so much easier to lie, to say I'd come back and that I'd be in school tomorrow. I know that's what I would have done a month before. Take the path of least resistance. Avoid fuss. Say whatever was necessary to keep people from being mad at me.
    I hated for people to be mad at me.
    I shook my head. "No, ma'am. I haven't. And I'm not going to."
    She didn't seem shocked or even surprised. "Your father seems very worried. He came up to the school and talked to all your classes, asking if anyone had seen you. He's also put up those posters... well, you've probably seen them around town."
    I blinked, then shrugged. Posters?
    "What about school?" she asked. "What are you going to do about classes? How are you going to go to college? Or get a job?"
    "I... I guess I'll have to make other arrangements." I felt good about not lying to her, but was still afraid she was going to disapprove of me. "I tried to take the GED," I said. "But they won't let a seventeen-year-old take it without parental permission or a court order."
    Mrs. Johnson licked her lower lip, then asked, "Where are you staying, David? Are you getting enough to eat?"
    "Yes, ma'am. I'm okay."
    Her words seemed chosen very carefully. It dawned on me that she wasn't going to bawl me out for missing school or for running away. It was as if she was trying to avoid spooking me—avoid scaring me off.
    "I'm going to phone your father, David. It's my duty. However, if you like we can talk to the county social worker. You don't have to go home if you don't want to." She hesitated and then finally said, "Does he abuse you, David?"
    The tears came then, like an anvil falling out of a clear blue sky. I thought I was fine up until then. I squeezed my eyes shut, and my shoulders were shaking. I kept quiet, stifling the sobs.
    Mrs. Johnson took a step toward me, I think to hug me. I recoiled, stepping back and turning away, wiping furiously at my eyes with my right hand.
    She dropped her arms to her side. She looked unhappy.
    I took a deep, shuddering breath, then two more, the shakes gradually diminishing. "Sorry," I said.
    Mrs. Johnson spoke then, softly, carefully. "I won't call your father, but only if you come see Mr. Mendoza with me. He'll know what to do."
    I shook my head. "No. I'm doing okay. I don't want to go see Mr. Mendoza."
    She looked even more unhappy. "Please, Davy. It's not safe on the street, even in Stanville, Ohio. We can protect you from your father."
    Oh, yeah? Where were you for the last five years? I shook my head again. This was going nowhere.
    "Do you still drive a gray VW, Mrs. Johnson?" I said, looking over her shoulder.
    She blinked, surprised by the change of subject. "Yes."
    "I think somebody just hit it."
    She turned her head quickly. Before she figured out that you couldn't see the parking lot from where we were standing, I jumped back to the Brooklyn hotel.
    God damn it all to hell! I threw the industrial-security book across the room, then scrambled to get it, a wave of guilt washing over me, both about getting angry and about mistreating a library book. Books didn't deserve to be abused... did people?
    I curled up on the bed and pulled the pillow over my head.
     
    It was dark when I sat up, dazed and uncomprehending, waking in slow, confusing stages. For a moment I looked around, expecting to find Mrs. Johnson standing over me and telling me many fascinating facts about western Africa, but I woke up a little more and the dim light coming through the thin shade revealed the room, my condition, my state of being.
    I stood up and stretched, wondered what time it was, and jumped to the Stanville Library to look at their wall clock. It was 9:20 P.M. in Ohio, and the same in New York. Time to get to work.
    I