"Naw. I'm making a phone call."
"Where do you live?"
"Just over there," Dicey said, pointing vaguely
with her free hand.
"Go home and call from there. Run along now. If you
were a girl, I'd walk you over, but—"
"Our phone's broken," Dicey said. "That's why
my mom sent me here."
The guard shifted his flashlight, holding it like a club. "Phones
don't break. How's a phone break?"
"We've got this dog that chews things up. Slippers,
papers, you know. He chewed the phone. The cord, actually, but it's all the
same—the phone's broken."
"Are you bulling me?"
"I wish I was."
"What's your name, kid?"
She felt funny, strange, making up lies as quickly and
smoothly as if she'd been doing it all her life. (1.1.100-112)
Whoa. Dicey is one
smooth operator when it comes to lying. Good thing, too, since she's going to
need it for the rest of their journey.