“So unless she got a friend from the library to drive her, she probably called a cab to pick her up on the street. Fred said he saw her go out the door alone. So that probably means she decided to get a cab. We both know it takes a while for a cab to come, so there’s a good chance she’s not even home yet. But there’s no way we can get there first by running. So what can we do to get there as fast as possible?” Roger held out his arm and pointed up the street. “I say we call a cab now and ask them to pick us up somewhere between here and your house. Then we start running like hell toward that rendezvous point.”

My fingers were already dialing the number of the taxi company. Mrs. Jenkins answered at the first ring.

“Providence Taxi.”

“It’s Maddy,” I said. “Can you get a cab to pick us up as quick as possible at . . .” I thought for a moment, pictured the cross streets that were about a third of the way to my home, and then blurted out their names.

“Maddy,” Mrs. Jenkins said, her voice concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have time to tell you,” I said. “I’ve just got to get home right away. We’ll be running from the direction of the library. Okay?”

Roger and I were already starting to jog down the street as I spoke those last words. I snapped the phone shut, shoved it in my hip pack, and we broke into a finish-line sprint.

19

RUNNING

RUNNING. MY MOM used to say that I started trying to run when I was only able to crawl. I would get up on my toes and my hands, sort of in a stance like a lineman in football, and scoot forward as fast as I could. When I finally did get up, it wasn’t to take tentative steps, but to hurl myself forward, no matter what was in my way. Fortunately it was usually my mom or dad ready to catch me before I hurt myself.

By the time I was in first grade, I was such a fast runner that none of the other kids could keep up with me on the playground. In fact, I remember one day in second grade. During gym class out on the ball field, some of the other kids were teasing me about my hair, which was always thick and dark. I hadn’t figured out how to style it in those days, and so it was always kind of matted together back then. This one boy started saying my hair looked like a doormat.

“Madeline’s a doormat,” he chanted, “Madeline’s a doormat.”