Wanted! by Caroline B. Cooney

had a sense of ongoing traffic. She half looked to her side and half identified a minivan hesitating before making a right turn on red. There was no mistaking the extreme slant of the front end. Chevy Lumina, thought Alice.
    “Come on,” said Paul, and she was embarrassed. Her dawdling was annoying this very nice person going so far out of his way for her. She stepped after him and the Lumina accelerated instead of stopping.
    Paul knew that traffic was there, but did not bother with it. He had that campus swagger, complete certainty that mere citizens would make way for a college student. He probably rode his bike in the middle of the road and, on Rollerblades, circled in front of traffic to prove he could control them.
    Paul reached the curb.
    Alice was still in the middle of the road.
    The van had manual transmission. It shifted hard from first into second and roared around the corner. The low-scooped front end bore down on her. It was a dark color. Possibly navy. Possibly not. The engine sounded exactly like the minivan that had left her father’s. But that van had left her father’s slowly and politely, and this van was going to run Alice over.
    Alice could not pick her feet up fast enough. It would crush her.
    “Sheesh,” said a guy behind her. A huge arm gave her both a shove and a lift. Alice and a guy built like a linebacker teetered on the far curb. The minivan shifted into third, way too hard, as if the driver thought he had a Corvette, and then it vanished down the street. Alice heard it go into fourth when she could no longer distinguish its taillights.
    If I were going to run somebody over, would I choose a lightweight minivan with crummy power? she thought. No. I’d get a Dodge Ram and obliterate them. Maybe it’s a coincidence, two Lumina minivans in one day.
    Trembling, Alice touched her rescuer’s sleeve. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “Hey. No problem. I swear that dude headed right for you.”
    “I didn’t even notice him,” said Paul.
    “Yeah, man, I saw that.” The football guy was laughing. “Didn’t you go to kindergarten? Remember? Look left and right before you cross?”
    “I was a genius,” said Paul. “I skipped kindergarten.”
    Even Alice managed a laugh.
    Paul said to the guy, “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
    “Hey. Whatever.” Her savior turned left, and Alice and Paul went straight. The inside of her head was clogged.
    They arrived at a huge building with several wings. A lot of women lived in Flemming. The front doors were propped open with wooden wedges. So much for electronic ID. Alice and Paul walked right in. Alice tried to act as if she knew every corner.
    The ground floor of Flemming was a sprawling, open room with several sitting areas. Girls were slouched on hard-looking purple couches in front of a large television. They didn’t look like the kind of people who cared about the news. In fact, they were watching General Hospital , which was impossible at this hour. Must be a tape and a VCR, thought Alice, amazed that she was capable of deduction after such a day.
    Alice wanted to be at home, at Dad or Mom’s, in her own familiar bed with her own familiar pillow, to cry herself to sleep, to make all the noise she wanted while she bawled. But if she gave herself up, she would spend the night in a jail, and she would have company all right, but probably not the kind of company she was used to.
    Paul headed for the phones, punched in four digits, and said, “Hi, Ginger.”
    What if Ginger were the chatty type? What if she wanted details and names and room numbers? If Ginger wanted to talk, Alice couldn’t do it; it would turn out that Alice had seams, like a rag doll, and her seams would burst, and her stuffing would come out.
    Paul turned with a smile. “Ginger says it’s cool. She’s in Six-Fourteen. Go on up.”
    Complete strangers would literally open doors for her, and give her rides and rooms, and save her when cars didn’t look where they were going. Alice