“We’ll beat the snow,” Star said.
As the train rumbled on, they’d been sitting in the well above the trucks, in the deep trough that jutted out over the point where two cars were coupled together. The sides of the well were high enough to keep the wind out, mostly, though it was dirty and noisy and sometimes the bottom of the well was rusted through, so you could see the sparks from the trucks and the iron rails as the trucks slid over them.
If they couldn’t get inside a boxcar or find a spot in an empty coal car, the well was the next best option. In the wells they were so close their legs and feet overlapped, but that kept them warm at night and in bad weather. And having their bodies in contact always made Nimble feel a little bit safer as the train rolled along, jumping and twisting and thumping.
“Nimble?” Blue asked. “What sayest thou?”
Both Blue and Star looked at Nimble, because from the beginning they’d all agreed decisions needed to be unanimous.
He looked at them. At the way the wind tossed Blue’s fair hair around like dandelion fluff, getting it in his eyes, which were a deep, bright blue. He was tall and pretty in a city kind of way, with angular features and perfect teeth. A long nose and a sweetly curved mouth. Skin without flaws, what could be seen of it beneath the grime and dust from their travels.
Blue could have been a model, but his expression was always cold, like he’d had just about enough of Nimble’s shit before he’d even opened his mouth.
Nimble didn’t know for sure, but he had a feeling that Blue’s family had money, and lots of it. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, with the assurance of someone who knew he could have a warm bed each night if he wanted it. Or maybe it was that perfect skin, miles and miles of it, that Nimble had plenty of time to think about when he kept watch over the other two as the train raced on in the dark.
He looked at Star, who was younger than Blue and Nimble, and who said he’d been riding the rails since he was sixteen with enough conviction that Nimble just about believed him.
His dark-penny-colored hair hung over his eyes like a curtain, a curtain he hid behind. He had a plump, raspberry-colored mouth that always looked on the verge of a smile, though that smile was seldom seen, not even in his green-flecked hazel eyes.
He was a little rough around the edges, but he was smart, always reading out of any book he could get his hands on or writing in that little black notebook of his, pausing to lick the end of the pencil before scribbling like mad.
Nimble had no idea about Star’s background, couldn’t even begin to guess, but maybe Star had come from a regular family, like he had. Had left hearth and home behind in search of adventure.
“Nimble?” Blue asked again.
Nimble had met Blue and Star only a little while after he’d started hopping trains. Those early days hadn’t been easy, scrabbling for food and staying out of the way of the other hobos, the ratty ones, the dangerous ones. The scary ones.
Then, one day, the train he’d been on had pulled into the Chicago yard, a snake-fest of metal and cement and noise, and he’d spotted the two young men who looked to be his own age slinking down a metal ladder off the side of a boxcar. They’d seen him and waved him over.
“We’re going to Wisconsin,” the tall, blond one had said.
“You can come with us,” the shorter one said.
They looked well-traveled and knowledgeable, and were a welcome sight in the busy yard with the jagged, cloud-flecked Chicago skyline looming overhead.
He thought he’d been getting tons of experience, figuring everything out, but they knew even more. Especially Star, who looked like he should be wearing glasses and teaching history.
It was Star who explained, pretty much before Nimble could say anything, that he needed an adventure name. A hobo name. Nimble had to think quickly, and after they introduced themselves as Blue and Star, he came up with Nimble, like the nursery rhyme.
When he’d first heard the rhyme, as a small child, he’d thought it was written about him, jumping over candlesticks. It was not, but now it could be useful. Nimble was his train name, his disguise to the world, a code to other hobos that he was one of them.
Now they wanted him to agree to head north before heading west, to avoid trouble at Bailey Yard. “Yeah, sure,” Nimble said.
It hadn’t beena mistake joining his friends. It hadn’t even been a mistake to say yes to the Star’s suggestion that they detour north. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault when the train went down a spur line, headed west, to avoid a train wreck up the line. But it had been a mistake to trust that his two traveling companions would have his back if anything went sideways.
Star could not have known the train would start up so quickly while Nimble was getting supplies. Nor could Blue.
It would have been too much to expect that they’d have climbed down off the train to join him until the next train came past, but either of them could have thrown him his stuff. They hadn’t.
That was the world. The shitty world. And now he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the snow coming down hard andsteady from a sky that looked like mean, gray cotton candy, the clouds tumbling over themselves as if pushing to get on top of each other.
The perhaps more immediate problem was the sheriff’s cruiser that he’d seen going up and down the streets as he’d searched for food and water for their journey.
When he’d been behind the coffee shop, digging through the trash for day-old food, he’d seen the patrol SUV roll past the mouth of the alley. As he’d moved quickly through the grocery store, filching bottled waters, he’d seen it going by.
If he went wandering around looking for shelter now, he’d stick out like a pole in the middle of an empty field. He needed someplace to hide, to stay warm until the storm blew over. A place to lick his wounds after his so-called friends’ betrayal.
He had nothing on him but his wallet. If he got picked up, they’d check his ID, throw him in jail, and then send him home, into the teeth of his dad’s rage.
