Al Capone Does My Shirts by Gennifer Choldenko

my mouth to tell him, then I close it again. All day long I try, but the words won’t come out. By the time the last bell rings, I still haven’t managed to say anything. Maybe I just won’t show up. Tell Scout I came down with a sudden case of the chicken pox. But that’s a rotten thing to do. I’m not a liar and I’m not a rat.
    Now Scout’s outside of his French class, talking to Piper. Since when does he talk to Piper?
    “Hey, Moose,” Piper says. “Scout here has just been telling me you’re quite the baseball player. He says you’re a lot more coordinated than you look.”
    “That’s not what I said,” Scout says.
    “That’s what you meant, though.” Piper’s long hair hangs in her slanty eyes. Her sweater is buttoned at the top and she has her gloves on.
    “What do you want?” I ask.
    “What do I want? Nothing. We were just chatting. Right, Scout?”
    Scout nods. He smiles at her, then looks at me, then back at Piper. He shrugs. “She was telling me about those convict baseballs.”
    “Exactly.” Piper smiles, pleased with herself. “By the way”—she lowers her voice—“we’re divvying up the earnings at the dock tomorrow and you are getting exactly nothing.”
    “ ’Bout time you gave Jimmy and Annie their cut. What you been doing with the money, anyway . . . laundering it?”
    “Very funny,” she says.
    “I gotta go,” Scout says. “Bye, Piper. Meet you there, Moose.” He starts running, which is how he gets everywhere. I don’t think he knows how to walk.
    “Actually, I can’t come today,” I finally blurt out, my voice barely breaking a whisper.
    Scout stops. He turns around. “What?” he asks.
    “I can’t exactly come today,” I mutter.
    Scout stares at me. Piper does too.
    “Why not?”
    “I gotta look after my sister.”
    “So? Get someone else to watch her. That’s what I did.”
    I shake my head.
    “Piper,” Scout says, “will you watch Moose’s little sister?”
    Piper snorts. “Not hardly.”
    “Why not?”
    Piper looks at me. She seems to be thinking what to say. “Because.” She answers as if this explains it.
    “Well, get somebody. I changed all of this for you, you know.”
    “I know,” I squeak.
    Scout makes a sound like he’s in pain. “What about next Tuesday?”
    “Can’t then either.” I stare out at the field where a line of girls are practicing archery in their white blouses and long plaid skirts.
    “When can you play?”
    “Lunch.” The word croaks out of me. I can’t look him in the eye.
    “Lunch?” Scout shakes his head. He slams his book on the ground. Picks it up and slams it down again. “What am I supposed to tell everyone?”
    “That I’m sorry.”
    “That you’re sorry?” His mouth hangs open. He waits for me to say something.
    There’s nothing to say.
    He picks up his book. “Fine. But don’t expect to play on my team again.”
     
    I go home like I’m supposed to, but the second my mom leaves, I let Natalie get her buttons and I give her as much lemon cake as she wants. I’m not sorry about it either.

19. Daddy’s Little Miss
    Wednesday, January 16, 1935
     
     
    The next day at school Scout treats me like a post made of cement. At lunch I don’t even bother going to the cafeteria. I head for the library and eat by myself. Scout’s the only real friend I’ve made so far and apparently I’ve lost him already.
    When I get home, I write a letter to Pete. I’m searching for an envelope when Theresa knocks on the door. “Come on,” she says, “Piper’s giving out the money!”
    “I’m not getting any,” I tell her.
    “Yeah, but we’ll get candy.”
    “Candy?” Natalie asks.
    “Annie will buy some at the store. And for sure she’ll give us some. Now, come on. You can bring your buttons, Nat,” Theresa says.
    What else am I going to do . . . sit inside with Natalie all afternoon?
    When we get down to the dock, Jimmy, Annie and Piper are already there. Nat gets right to work matching