Trout and Me by Susan Shreve Page B

steps into the station. We had almost twenty minutes before the train for Stockton left, which meant it was four o’clock, the time I’d planned to call my mom.
    “How much money do you have?” I asked Trout, trying to sound casual.
    “I’ve got $4.50,” he said. “I don’t know what happened because Dad usually leaves me more than that and he gives Ginger a bunch in case I need something, but I didn’t want to ask Ginger, so that’s all I’ve got.”
    I wondered if $4.50 would be enough money to call Stockton.
    “So maybe I could borrow some,” I said, stopping at the line of public phones.
    “Sure,” he said, but he gave me a funny look.
    I put twenty-five cents in the phone and called the operator and asked her could she help me to get my dad at 609-555-9475, which is the number of the hardware store. At the last minute I decided not to call my mom. She hadprobably never skipped school in her life, but I bet my father had and would understand.
    “Hi, Dad,” I said when he answered.
    “Just a second,” he said. “I have a customer.”
    I could hear him talking to someone and then he was back on the phone speaking in a quiet voice I’d never heard from him before, even when he was really mad.
    “Where are you, Benjamin?” he asked.
    I “cut to the chase,” as my dad would say.
    “I’m in New York and I’ll be back at five-twenty on New Jersey Transit and then I’ll walk from the station,” I said. “I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
    I made it sound as if it was perfectly normal to spend a school day in New York City, as if it wouldn’t bother my parents at all. At first, when I got him on the phone, I was very proud of myself. After all, I’d managed a whole day on trains and subways and in New York City and also the Bronx alone with only Trout, and I was the one in charge. But my dad didn’t seem to feel that way.
    “As you might imagine,” he was saying, “the whole school knows that you and Trout cut classes today. Teachers, kids, parents, every bloody person around. This was not a smart move, Ben.”
    “Okay, Dad,” I said, not wanting to let Trout know my dad’s mood. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
    “So what’d he say?” Trout asked.
    “Nothing much. Just the usual stuff of coming straight home.”
    “And he didn’t mind that you’d gone to New York?”
    “He didn’t say he minded,” I said.
    “No kidding.” Trout seemed surprised. “So let’s get a couple of milkshakes before we go, okay?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    And we headed off to the yogurt and ice cream stand in the station.
    The call to Stockton had cost $1.65, which meant that Trout had only $2.85 left. I looked at the price list on the wall behind the ice cream kiosk. A milkshake cost $2.50.
    “Let’s split one,” I said.
    “I want a whole one. Chocolate with whipped cream.”
    “I don’t think I want one,” I said.
    “How come?” he asked.
    “I’m full.”
    “Full? We had almost nothing to eat except a hot dog and Coke and that was a long time ago. I’m starving to death.”
    I shrugged.
    “Is your money all gone?” he asked, suddenly guessing the situation. “Is that why you needed mine to make a telephone call?”
    We ordered one chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and shared.
    “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think it was stolen.”
    “Stolen?”
    “Maybe on the train. I don’t know.”
    “So there was a robber.”
    “I guess.”
    “And he put his hand in your pocket and took your money and you didn’t even feel it?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “When we got to Penn Station, I reached my hand in my pocket and it was gone.”
    “Jeez,” Trout said as we ran down the stairs to the New Jersey train to Stockton. “Do you think that’s bad luck?”
    “I hope not,” I said. “I mean it’s bad luck it happened but I hope it doesn’t mean bad luck for us.”
    “Right,” Trout said. “That’s what I was thinking.”

The day after Trout and I went to the Bronx