"Nixon, Joan Lowery - The Other Side Of Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nixon Joan Lowery)

"Okay now?"
"I guess."
She leaves, and I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking about what happened. I guess I overreacted and got scared of Monty because I'm scared of so many things now. I don't want to be on television! I don't want a policeman guarding me in the hall! I don't want to be afraid anymore) I wish I were still thirteen!

I don't have time to think about Monty or policemen or anything else the next morning when the day snaps into place with doors banging open, blinds clattering up, breakfast, a shower, and Alice changing the dressing on my hip.
"Looks lovely," Alice says. "It's healing nicely. Dr. Peterson will be pleased."
"I'm pleased," I tell her.
Alice laughs. "That's taken for granted." She hands me a clean pair of jeans and a slightly faded T-shirt with a strange face on it. "This was my daughter's," Alice says. "I thought you'd like it."
"Is that your daughter's picture?"
Alice giggles. "No, honey. That's Glory Beans."
"Who's Glory Beans?"
"Why, she'sЧ" Alice stops and stares at me with wide eyes. "Oh, my, I didn't think. You wouldn't know, would you? She's a very famous punk star. All the kids are crazy about her."
"Punk?"
"Whew!" Alice shakes her head. "I guess the best thing to do is bring you a four-year stack of newsmagazines, so you can catch up."
Mrs. Montez hops into the room as I pull the shirt over my head. "Fifteen minutes," she says. "I wrote your appointment on the schedule. Meet me in the physical therapy room on time!"
"Where is theЧ" But she's already galloping down the hall.
Alice gathers her tray of things and heads for the door. "Just turn left and go straight down to the main desk, then turn left again. It's at the far end of that wing. You can't miss it."
I go into the bathroom and brush my hair. It needs a trim. I could probably use a haircut, a new style. What are the new styles? Maybe there's a choice. Jan's hair looked good, not like that reporter's. I study my face. I'm getting a little more used to it now. It's not too bad. I wish my nose weren't so long and my eyes were bigger, but on the whole I kind of like this face. It's so much like the face I was used to seeing on Donna.
Quickly I get the lipstick from the drawer of my bedside table and run back to the bathroom with it. I smooth it on with my little finger. There. Maybe later I'll try some of the eye stuff. Not now. I remember Mrs. Montez's order to be on time.
As I enter the hallway I hear some voices to my right, down at what must be the nurses' station, but the hall to my left is empty. What happened to the policeman who was here? The hall is long, but at the end I can see a desk, or counter or something, and a lot of potted plants. That must be the main desk. Feeling like a six-year-old who's allowed to cross the street for the first time, I start down the hallway, following the directions Alice gave me.
Suddenly someone swoops up from behind me and grips my upper right arm. As I stiffen, digging in my heels and trying to pull away, a voice says, "What's with you? I'm just trying to help you escape the mob."
The voice belongs to Monty. He smiles at me, and I try not to stare at the wide gap between his front teeth.
I tug my arm out of his grasp. "What mob?"
"Down at the main desk."
As I take a skeptical look in that direction, he says, "Well, it's not exactly a mob, but a couple of reporters there are asking a lot of questions about you."
"I don't see anybody."
"They're by the main door. The cop is with them. If you go past them, they'll see you."
"I have to go by the main desk to get to the physical therapy room."
"Not if you use my shortcut. That's what I've been trying to tell you."
It makes sense. I don't want to have to talk to any reporters right now. So I shrug. Okay. Which way do we go?
He takes my arm again and pulls me down the hall to a swinging door, where he jerks me through. We're in a corridor that's narrower than the main hallway. I try to pull away. "You're hurting my arm. Don't squeeze it! And don't go so fast!"
"C'mon. You don't want to be late."
I nearly stumble, trying to keep up with him. The corridor turns, and I begin to realize that we're going in the wrong direction. We're heading toward what must be a back door to this building because in the upper half of the door is one of those crinkly-looking opaque glass windows, and I can see light shining through the window.
I grab his arm with my other hand, tugging and yelling, "Stop!"
When we're almost at the back door, he does stop, so suddenly it throws me off-balance. I bang into the wall, and the only reason I remain upright is that he's still hanging onto my arm. His eyes dart to each side as he nervously looks at the row of closed doors. "Don't make so much noise," he says.
"Let go of me!" I try to kick his leg, but he jumps aside.
His face is close to mine. I can smell the salty sweat on his forehead. "Hey, hold on. You'll get me in trouble if you don't shut up."
As I open my mouth wide to scream he claps a hand over it and in a low voice says, "Listen to me, will you? I'll get twenty bucks from one of the reporters if I bring you to the back door. The guy just wants to ask you a couple of questions and get a picture of you. That's all. You don't have to say much if you don't want. Okay? I mean I can really use the twenty bucks."
He takes his hand away from my mouth, and I spit and rub the back of my left hand over my lips, trying to wipe away the taste of his fingers.
"Well?" he asks.
"I don't think a reporter would do that."
"Look, who asks questions? Twenty bucks is twenty bucks." He smiles, as though he were trying to put me at ease; but his eyes narrow, and for an instant he looks away. I think he's lying.
Suddenly the knob of the back door rattles, and I look up to see a shadow through the glass. The door is locked, so the person on the other side gives up and presses against the glass, trying to see through it. The glass distorts his face into a monstrous blob with squashed nose and two dark spots for eyes. Can he see me? Those dark spots shift and seem to be staring in my direction. The doorknob rattles again.


Chapter Six

I yell at the top of my lungs, and now my kick connects with one of Monty's shins. He shouts an obscenity and grabs his leg. Two doors fly open, and people crowd into the corridor, squeezing behind and around each other, squishing Monty against the wall, where he squirms and struggles like a beetle on its back.
Maybe I don't make much sense, but I shout at everyone about what happened. The policeman arrives and dashes through the back door, but he comes back to say that whoever was at the door has got away. He grips the back of Monty's neck and marches him off.
Someone has an arm around my shoulders and is trying to calm me down. People are demanding, "What did she say? What happened?" But a loud, firm voice shatters the confusion.