contract’s up. I had to take it back.” I don’t dare tell him what really happened. Once I do what I have to do, he might figure it all out.
“Bummer.” Jerome pats my shoulder, but all that does is bring me even closer to tears.
I take a deep breath, and decide to launch my attack before I chicken out for good. “Hey, you want to study together? These chapters Finelli gave us are really a bitch.”
“Huh?” I hate biology, and he knows it. No wonder he’s suspicious. “You want to hit the library?”
“No. I thought we could study in your room.”
“Um, we’re not supposed to do that, remember?”
“We’re studying, okay? We can leave the door open. God, Jerome, don’t you ever get sick of people pushing you around all the time?”
He considers this, raindrops glinting on his glasses. “Okay.”
Aunt Gloria’s car isn’t there, so I don’t bother with the window. I walk right in with Jerome at my side, and Grandma Daisy, full of flour and sweat, greets us in the kitchen. “Fresh cookies! Y’all hungry?” I shake my head, and she tugs the hood of my outermost sweatshirt. “Child, you gonna catch pneumonia runnin’ around like that. Tell that momma of yours she needs to go out and buy you a real coat.” She pulls the sweatshirt off me so she can throw it in the dryer, and I bite my lip when she gives me an unexpected hug. Wonder how huggy she’ll be if she ends up on Court TV ?
Bubby, trapped in a high chair, chubby cheeks dotted with cookie dough, smells like vanilla when I drop a kiss on his head. He goes back to squishing cookie dough into his tray, and I stumble to Jerome’s room through the cluttered hallway, wondering if I’ll ever feel like me again.
Jerome has already spread our homework over the grimy floor of his room. While he rambles on about mitochondria and osmosis and everything else I don’t care about, I stare at his mattress, wishing I had a better plan, and then I hear myself say, “You know, I’m too hungry to think. Maybe I will take some of those cookies.”
Jerome throws the book down in disgust, and I flip up the mattress as soon as he’s out of the room. No sign of the gun, but luckily the money’s still there. Balancing the mattress on my head, I rapidly peel away some bills. Five hundred, six hundred…how much do I need? Should I call and find out? No, no, no, this might be my only chance.
Nine hundred, a thousand …eleven hundred, twelve…and then I hear Jerome coming back. The mattress slams down with a muffled plop, and I shove the wad into my jeans and put on an oh-so-innocent face. Twelve hundred bucks—Anthony will die! But he can’t prove I took it any more than I can prove he took my cello.
So now we’re even.
…
The next day after school, I blow Jerome off and ride the bus back to Tower City. “Option to purchase”—it says so on the contract. I point this out to that same grumpy lady who blinks at me over the rim of her tiny glasses. “That’ll be one thousand and ninety dollars and ninety-five cents.” Funny how I don’t need an adult around to buy the damn thing.
I hand over the clump of bills, take my receipt, and wander back out with a sickening sense of loss. Something important has been ripped out of me now, like an arm or a leg, or maybe something much deeper. Maybe a chunk of my heart. Maybe a sliver of my soul.
Whatever it is, I think it’s gone for good.
19
Days and days pass, and I can’t shake this awful feeling. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I can’t even breathe without hurting, and I itch all over like poison ivy. Even heroin withdrawal can’t be as bad as this.
When I can’t stand it another second, I go crawling to Momma.
Big mistake. She’s hasn’t been sober one minute since the day she quit her job. “How many times I gotta tell you? Nobody’s working! We ain’t got the money!”
“But Momma, if I keep playing, I can get a scholarship to Great Lakes.” I wave my rumpled brochure. “Mr.
“Bummer.” Jerome pats my shoulder, but all that does is bring me even closer to tears.
I take a deep breath, and decide to launch my attack before I chicken out for good. “Hey, you want to study together? These chapters Finelli gave us are really a bitch.”
“Huh?” I hate biology, and he knows it. No wonder he’s suspicious. “You want to hit the library?”
“No. I thought we could study in your room.”
“Um, we’re not supposed to do that, remember?”
“We’re studying, okay? We can leave the door open. God, Jerome, don’t you ever get sick of people pushing you around all the time?”
He considers this, raindrops glinting on his glasses. “Okay.”
Aunt Gloria’s car isn’t there, so I don’t bother with the window. I walk right in with Jerome at my side, and Grandma Daisy, full of flour and sweat, greets us in the kitchen. “Fresh cookies! Y’all hungry?” I shake my head, and she tugs the hood of my outermost sweatshirt. “Child, you gonna catch pneumonia runnin’ around like that. Tell that momma of yours she needs to go out and buy you a real coat.” She pulls the sweatshirt off me so she can throw it in the dryer, and I bite my lip when she gives me an unexpected hug. Wonder how huggy she’ll be if she ends up on Court TV ?
Bubby, trapped in a high chair, chubby cheeks dotted with cookie dough, smells like vanilla when I drop a kiss on his head. He goes back to squishing cookie dough into his tray, and I stumble to Jerome’s room through the cluttered hallway, wondering if I’ll ever feel like me again.
Jerome has already spread our homework over the grimy floor of his room. While he rambles on about mitochondria and osmosis and everything else I don’t care about, I stare at his mattress, wishing I had a better plan, and then I hear myself say, “You know, I’m too hungry to think. Maybe I will take some of those cookies.”
Jerome throws the book down in disgust, and I flip up the mattress as soon as he’s out of the room. No sign of the gun, but luckily the money’s still there. Balancing the mattress on my head, I rapidly peel away some bills. Five hundred, six hundred…how much do I need? Should I call and find out? No, no, no, this might be my only chance.
Nine hundred, a thousand …eleven hundred, twelve…and then I hear Jerome coming back. The mattress slams down with a muffled plop, and I shove the wad into my jeans and put on an oh-so-innocent face. Twelve hundred bucks—Anthony will die! But he can’t prove I took it any more than I can prove he took my cello.
So now we’re even.
…
The next day after school, I blow Jerome off and ride the bus back to Tower City. “Option to purchase”—it says so on the contract. I point this out to that same grumpy lady who blinks at me over the rim of her tiny glasses. “That’ll be one thousand and ninety dollars and ninety-five cents.” Funny how I don’t need an adult around to buy the damn thing.
I hand over the clump of bills, take my receipt, and wander back out with a sickening sense of loss. Something important has been ripped out of me now, like an arm or a leg, or maybe something much deeper. Maybe a chunk of my heart. Maybe a sliver of my soul.
Whatever it is, I think it’s gone for good.
19
Days and days pass, and I can’t shake this awful feeling. I can’t think. I can’t eat. I can’t even breathe without hurting, and I itch all over like poison ivy. Even heroin withdrawal can’t be as bad as this.
When I can’t stand it another second, I go crawling to Momma.
Big mistake. She’s hasn’t been sober one minute since the day she quit her job. “How many times I gotta tell you? Nobody’s working! We ain’t got the money!”
“But Momma, if I keep playing, I can get a scholarship to Great Lakes.” I wave my rumpled brochure. “Mr.
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