Searching for Candlestick Park Read Online Free Page A

full of cars, and crowds of people hurried toward the gray dome-shaped stadium. Many wore blue Mariners’ baseball caps. I realized the Seattle Mariners were playing an afternoon baseball game. Logos on T-shirts and sweatshirts said, REFUSE TO LOSE and MARINER MAGIC . Some fans carried bags of peanuts or seat cushions.
    A boy about my age hurried along with his dad. Hehad a baseball glove on his left hand. They were laughing, and the man took two tickets out of his shirt pocket and handed one of them to the boy.
    A terrible yearning tore at my insides. I stood still and watched until the boy and his dad were out of sight.
    Soon, I told myself, that will be me and Dad, going into Candlestick Park to watch the Giants. Soon. If the train wasn’t possible, I would get to Candlestick Park some other way.
    Foxey scratched at the inside of the box, trying to dig a hole in the bottom. Before long, I would need to let him out to stretch. I hurried away from the stadium, passed the bus tunnel, and walked along the sidewalk.
    This section of Seattle is called the International District; I peered into small shops that sell exotic pastries and colorful clothing. If people can immigrate to the United States all the way from China and Viet Nam, I thought, I can surely find my way from Seattle to San Francisco.
    Three boys passed me on bicycles, talking a language I couldn’t understand. I watched as they stopped their bikes in front of a grocery. Wooden stands full of bananas, mangoes, oranges and kiwis lined the sidewalk outside the grocery.
    None of the boys locked their bikes. They just rested the handlebars against the fruit stands and went inside the store.
    My eyes swept quickly across the three bikes. I chose the blue one because it had a flat place over the back wheel—perfect for Foxey’s box to ride on.
    As I made this decision, I heard Mama and Aunt May, in unison, telling me, “Thou shalt not steal,” but I closed my ears to their imagined sermons, ran forward, and grabbed the blue bike.
    With Foxey’s box under one arm, I pushed off, pedaling as hard as I could. I was all the way to the corner before a trio of voices shouted behind me.

CHAPTER
FOUR

    I skidded around the corner, leaped off the bike, and dragged it into the lobby of a sleazy-looking hotel. I laid the bike on the floor, where it wouldn’t show through the front window.
    I went to the hotel counter, past three whiskery men who looked as if they’d been sitting in the lobby so long they’d put down roots. They stared blankly at me, and I tried to appear casual, though my heart was thundering in my ears.
    The bored man behind the counter glanced away from a TV set and narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.
    “How much does a room cost?” I asked.
    “You alone?”
    “Yes.” I didn’t mention Foxey, since I would not be renting a room anyway. I stood sideways at the counter so I could see out the front window while we talked.
    “Eleven dollars. Cash in advance. One bed; bathroom at the end of the hall.”
    I pretended to count my money while I watched the window. The three boys—two on bicycles and one trailing them on foot—raced past. Slowly, I put my money back in my pocket. When the boys did not return, I thanked the clerk, and said I could not afford a room.
    As I bent to pick up the bike, I looked out the window. Seeing no sign of the three boys, I pushed the bike out of the hotel and rode away fast.
    I knew which direction was west because that’s where the water is. If you go west in Seattle, you eventually wind up at Elliot Bay, a part of the water of Puget Sound. From that I could figure out which way was south, and I headed south.
    All I cared was that I was going in the right direction. I didn’t have enough time or money or leg muscle to go out of my way. It isn’t easy to ride a bike one-handed and hold a box full of cat under the other arm.
    When I’d ridden twenty minutes with no sign of the boys or a police car coming after me,