Jumper. Steven Gould

      

      Steven Gould

      JUMPER

       Copyright

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublisher 2008

      Copyright © Steven C. Gould 1992

      The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      Cover art copyright © 2008 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. All rights reserved

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

      HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

      Source ISBN: 9780007275991

      Ebook Edition © MARCH 2009 ISBN: 9780007283514

      Version: 2019-02-26

      For James Gould, soldier, craftsman, sailor, father

       and

       Laura J. Mixon, engineer, teacher, writer, wife

      Contents

       Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Part 1: Beginnings Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Part 2: The Pursuit Of Happiness Chapter Five Chapter Six Part 3: Adjustments Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Part 4: Chinese Curse Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Part 5: Searching Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Part 6: Playing Tag Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Part 7: Olly, Olly, In Come Free Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Acknowledgments About the Author By Stephen Gould About the Publisher

       PART 1:

BEGINNINGS

       ONE

      The first time was like this.

      I was reading when Dad got home. His voice echoed through the house and I cringed.

      “Davy!”

      I put the book down and sat up on the bed. “In here, Dad. I’m in my room.”

      His footsteps on the hallway’s oak floor got louder and louder. I felt my head hunching between my shoulders; then Dad was at the door and raging.

      “I thought I told you to mow the lawn today!” He came into the room and towered over me. “Well! Speak up when I ask you a question!”

      “I’m gonna do it, Dad. I was just finishing a book.”

      “You’ve been home from school for over two hours! I’m sick and tired of you lying around this house doing nothing!” He leaned close and the whiskey on his breath made my eyes water. I flinched back and he grabbed the back of my neck with fingers like a vise. He shook me. “You’re nothing but a lazy brat. I’m going to beat some industry into you if I have to kill you to do it!”

      He pulled me to my feet, still gripping my neck. With his other hand he fumbled for the ornate rodeo buckle on his belt, then snaked the heavy Western strap out of his pants loops.

      “No, Dad. I’ll mow the lawn right now. Honest!”

      “Shut up,” he said. He pushed me into the wall. I barely got my hands up in time to keep my face from slamming nose-first into the plaster. He switched hands then, pressing me against the wall with his left while he took the belt in his right hand.

      I twisted my head slightly, to keep my nose from grinding into the wall, and saw him switch his grip on the belt, so the heavy silver buckle hung on the end, away from his hand.

      I yelled. “Not the buckle, Dad!