Between Madison and Palmetto by Jacqueline Woodson

1
    R ain came the day after Christmas—hard, cold drops that lasted into the night, tapering to a drizzle by next morning—only to start up a crazy torrent again toward the end of the day.
    By New Year’s Eve, the rain had turned to snow. It started out melting the moment it hit the ground, then little by little began to stick, first in patches, then building into heavy white puffs of hills up and down Madison Street.
    Margaret stared out of Ms. Dell’s window. Behind her, the New Year’s party was in full blast. She must have suffered through a hundred Happy New Year kisses. Now it was a little after midnight.
    â€œMay old acquaintance be forgot!” Maizon sang at the top of her lungs, coming up behind Margaret and handing her a glass of sparkling cider. Maizon raised her own glass into the air.
    â€œAnd never brought to Rome,” Margaret chimed in. They clinked glasses, then gulped the cider and giggled.
    They had dressed alike for the party. Margaret pulled at the collar of the black crushed-velvet dress and picked some lint from the black tights she and Maizon had bought to go with the dresses.
    â€œI want to go upstairs and put on something more comfortable,” Margaret said. She had lived five floors up from Ms. Dell for a long time now, but still it was hard to get used to the idea of climbing all those stairs and traipsing back down again for the sake of an outfit.
    â€œNo way, José,” Maizon said. “Then I’ll have to go home and change.” She lived down the street from Margaret in one of the most beautiful brownstones on the block. “I’m not about to go all the way home. Not with the party going strong.”
    Before the party, Margaret’s baby broher, Li‘l Jay, had cried when he saw Maizon’s and Margaret’s outfits. “This!” he insisted, yanking his black sweatsuit from the dresser drawer. Margaret’s mother had scowled at the outfit but gave Li’l Jay his way.
    â€œSomebody die?” Ms. Dell teased as she walked past the trio with a plate of tiny sandwiches. Dressed in a black skirt and jacket with a string of pearls around her neck, she looked younger than fifty.
    â€œWhat’s your prediction, Ms. Dell?” Maizon asked, moving in front of her.
    â€œPrediction for what?” Ms. Dell said too innocently, raising her eyebrows. Ms. Dell was clairvoyant. Although both Margaret and Maizon had coveted her gift of sight, they had discovered that Ms. Dell had passed her gift on to Li‘l Jay. Each time the phone rang, Li’l Jay would shout out the name of the person on the other end before anyone answered it. He could tell who was walking up the block without looking out the window. Li‘l Jay knew what Margaret was doing even when they were in different parts of the house. It was starting to drive her a little crazy.
    â€œThe future,” Maizon said. “What’s going to happen this year? Is everybody going to get rich?”
    â€œWe already are rich. Rich in family and friends.” Ms. Dell took a sandwich from the tray and stuffed it into Maizon’s mouth. Margaret giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
    â€œI predict this year will have three hundred and sixtyfive days in it.” Ms. Dell laughed, pushing Maizon out of the way.
    â€œSome things never change,” Maizon said, after Ms. Dell had gone. She eyed Li‘l Jay. “What a waste. A perfectly good gift of clairvoyance and he gets it.”
    Li‘l Jay laughed and hugged Maizon’s leg.
    â€œThis kid barely talks. What good is being clairvoyant if you can’t communicate?”
    â€œHe talks enough,” Margaret said. “He’s discovered the art of tattling on me in five words or less.”
    â€œNot me.” Li‘l Jay giggled.
    â€œYes you, li‘l brother.”
    â€œHappy Year!!” Li‘l Jay yelled.
    Margaret’s mother walked in with Hattie, Ms. Dell’s