OCR Text |
Show page 185 Snook and Monk stopped at the top of the slag road and looked along the asphalt pavement toward town. They called to Jerry Weeks to catch up. Jerry stopped, climbed off his bike, rubbed dust from it to pass time, and blew his nose. Snook and Monk were anonymous silhouettes to him. He didn't want to ride with them. He didn't know them. Snook called again. Monk shouted, "We'll give you three strawberry agates!" But Jerry Weeks didn t hear him, only looked down at the slag. His chest and head began to feel tighter, and his breathing, he knew, was noticeably slower, "Come on," Snook said, elbowing Monk to his bike. The two boys coasted away, then began pedaling, picking up a good speed. Jerry Weeks pushed his bike to the top of the hill as Snook and Monk rode away faster and faster. Then, there far along the asphalt pavement, he heard Snook's siren cut the air. Jerry Weeks saw Snook point at the foxtail on the mudguard of his bike. The foxtail was horizontal, standing straight out in the wind. "Look at that old foxtail!" Jerry Weeks heard Snook shout, clear and proud and possessive. "Look at that old foxtail!" |