"Howard Waldrop - DisRxT" - читать интересную книгу автора (Waldrop Howard)

Beanpole pedaled into the drive before the dust settled.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"You missed Rocket Boy," said Sankandank.

"When?"

"A minute ago."

"How can that be?" asked Beanpole. "I was gonna tell you guys I just saw him at the store, talking to
Therese."

"When?"

"Just now, the time it takes to get back here."

"Are there two of him," asked Sticks, "or is he really just that fast?"

They all looked up at Dave.




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SEVEN, EIGHT, YOU'RE TOO LATE


Rocket Boy must be out of his crawfishing mind.

Thrill Hill was where they held the Soap Box Derby every year, and it was a killer, even with the traffic
blocked off and the padded barricades. Guys fifteen and sixteen years old couldn't make it up that hill on
their ten-speed English Racers without standing up on the pedals. Cars had to come in low gear all the
way up. There was no need for the twenty miles per hour sign on that side of the road.

On the left side looking down, you had vacant lots, except halfway down there was Mean Old Man
Rebers' house. He didn't even like kids walking on that side of the street. On the other you had ten or
twelve houses. The hill had three plateaus—one each at Fleagle, Susquehanna, and Niagara Streets. The
hill looked like the top third of the State Fair rollercoaster. If you came up on the intersection of Romeo
Street—which the hill was on—and Juliette Boulevard—at the top-and looked down too fast, you'd get
vertigo and the world would swing and sway.

At the bottom was the yellow and black octagonal stop-sign where Romeo Street dead-ended onto
Highway 4, with traffic going by at fifty miles per hour. Across the highway was a pit full of water where
they'd dug the gravel to pave Highway 4.