This is just a heads up, but if you’re a group of four teenagers and a toddler with no shoes and burned clothes walking through New Orleans like nobody’s business, people will notice you. We stick to the sidewalks but even people in cars would stop and stare.
“I hate this,” Sheila mumbles into me.
“What?” I whisper.
“Everyone’s staring at us.”
“ATM!” Darcie shouts and hops over to the machine.
“Oh, good,” Ray says. “We’re gonna need shoes if we want to go in any building.”
“Why did the restaurant let us in?” Paul questions.
“They didn’t. We Jumped,” answers Sheila.
Paul nods. “That little music box thing – if we can find the letters of the notes in the melody and find the corresponding number of the order in the alphabet, it should give us our code.”
“Who’s got the music box?” I ask, looking around.
“I do,” Sheila plays the bittersweet melody again and Darcie says each note as it comes out.
“G, G, A, G, G, G, C, B, A, G, G, G, E, G, C, B, A, G, F, E, E, D, D, D, G, G, G, G, G.” the toddler pauses and thinks for a second. “7, 7, 1, 7, 7, 7, 3, 2, 1, 7, 7, 7, 5, 7, 3, 2, 1, 7, 6, 5, 5, 4, 4, 4, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7.”
“Well, I’m just gonna put it out there – having a genius around definitely helps.” I ruffle Darcie’s pigtails and enter 7717 into the ATM. “How much?”
“As much as it’ll let you draw out,” Ray offers. “Times, like, thirty.”
"Where is this money coming from?” I ask, drawing out 500 dollars. “That’s the maximum for the day, so… yeah.”
“It’s the Precinct’s.” Paul answers. “The place in Greenhorn.”
“Where do I put this?”
“In your butt pocket,” Sheila offers. “That way if someone tries to grab it, it’s technically sexual abuse. Or I could put it in my bra, if you like.”
Paul and Ray turn pale. “I’ll just put it in the laptop case…” I try.
Ray nods. “Good call. Let’s buy some shoes.” He stops a man and asks for directions to the nearest shoe store. He turns back to us. “Right onto North Peters Street, left onto Canal Street, left onto Poydras, right onto Port of New Orleans. You got that, Darce?”
Darcie gives the four of us a big head nod and we start walking.
YOU ARE READING
Just Jump
Teen FictionEnter Ben. He's your average seventeen-year-old guy, except for the fact that he has spent his entire life in Greenhorn, Oregon - a town thought to be abandoned. Truth is, it's home to more than 100 ventures, Ben being one. Some can Jump, some are g...