Ash Ketchum: Hunt For Jade Dragon

Ch. 4 Bugatti Veyron

   The room Clemont and I were sharing was at least twice the size of my room at home. There was Western art on the walls, mostly paintings of coyotes and buffalo, and a framed woven Native American blanket.

   Clemont had already claimed one of the beds and was lying on his back eating something, evidenced by an empty cellophane candy wrapper on the bed next to him. "Look, man. Licorice." He threw me a package of red licorice, which landed on the floor about ten feet from me.

   I picked it up. "Thanks."

  "There's a bunch of snacks in that cupboard."

   I was amazed at how quickly he'd rooted it out, like a pig hunting for truffles. I took off my shoes, then sat down on the bed. "So what do you think of these guys?"

   He stopped chewing. "Why? Don't you trust them?"

  "I didn't say that. Do you trust them?"

  "I think we need to be careful."

   After what we'd been through in the last month, the word sounded ridiculous. "Careful," I said. "You mean like wearing a helmet at chess tournaments or knee pads to clogging practice?"

  "Shut up," he said.

   Within five minutes Clemont was snoring. I couldn't sleep, in part because of the noise, but also because I was afraid to. Almost every time I closed my eyes the nightmares returned. After enduring a half hour of Clemont's snoring, I put my shoes back on and left the room.

   I was a little curious to see what the other rooms in the place looked like, so I opened the first door past Brock's. A tall, auburn boy lying on his side looked up from a book. "Didn't anyone teach you to knock?" He said.

  "Apparently not," I replied.

   He grinned. "Hi, Ashy-boy."

  "Hey, Gary."

  "You made it back in one piece."

  "Barely."

  "I heard you blew up the Ampere."

  "Yeah."

   I thought that maybe he saw the flash of pain in my eyes, because he looked at me for a moment as if he wanted to say something more about it. Or maybe I just hoped he would. If anyone would understand how I felt, it would be Gary. From what I'd heard, he also had nightmares about the planes he'd brought down. Instead he just said, "Too bad Cyrus wasn't on it."

  "He was. He just got off," I looked around his room. It looked more lived-in than ours. It was customized. There were stacks of books, framed photographs of Gary's family, and posters on the walls, mostly of cars. Cool cars. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and one I'd never seen before. I walked over to it.

  "What's this?"

  "It's a Bugatti Veyron," he said.

  "Is it fast?"

   He laughed. "Are you electric? It can go two hundred and fifty-four miles per hour. At top speed it burns out its tires in fifteen minutes. And it only costs one point four million dollars."

   I turned back. "Are you kidding?"

  "Nope."

  "I couldn't afford the tires," I said.

  "I'm sure Hatch would buy you one. . ." I looked at him, surprised that he would say something like that. ". . .in exchange for your soul."

  "There's a trade," I said. "Cool room."