Between Madison and Palmetto by Jacqueline Woodson Page A

daughter.
    â€œHi, Mama,” Margaret yelled, kissing her on the cheek.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Tory,” Maizon said. She nodded to Hattie, who winked at both of them.
    Last summer Hattie had decided to go back to school to study nursing. Now, at twenty-one, she was already working at a hospital three days a week as part of her training. Margaret couldn’t wait until the day when she walked into a doctor’s office and it was Hattie who pressed the tongue depressor down her throat. Hattie with her soft warm hands and sad brown eyes. A long time ago, when Hattie was a lot younger, her baby died at birth. Margaret figured this was the reason Hattie was back in school now, learning how to save other people’s lives.
    â€œWe’re finally going to have original art in the house,” Hattie said.
    Mrs. Tory hammered a nail into the wall above the kitchen table. “I think this is a nice spot.”
    â€œPerfect,” Hattie said.
    â€œPerfect for what?” Maizon asked, moving closer to the table.
    Mrs. Tory took a picture from brown wrapping. It was a small painting, about the size of a notebook.
    â€œThat’s your painting, Mama,” Margaret said, moving closer to get a better look. The painting was what Mama had called an abstract. There were lots of oranges and reds and blues moving over the canvas in a way that made Margaret think of a rainbow melting into the night. When she looked closer, she could read the writing at the corner. Rainbow Melting, it said in thin black letters. Beside the title Mrs. Tory had signed her name: Linda Vicky Tory.
    â€œYou named it what I told you it reminded me of,” Margaret whispered. Mrs. Tory smiled and nodded. She had braided her hair and woven the braids into a crown around her head. The style made her look younger, more lively. She looks so beautiful tonight, Margaret thought, reaching out and hugging her. “Happy New Year, Mama.”
    Behind them, Margaret could hear Maizon humming “Auld Lang Syne” off-key, the way they both sang and hummed.
    â€œHug me,” Li‘l Jay demanded. Mama reached down and joined him in the circle.
    â€œReal art,” Hattie was saying. “Ump. Ump. Ump.”
    â€œThis is getting corny,” Maizon said. “I’m going to find my grandma.”

2
    M aizon found Grandma sitting on the couch talking to Bo. What could they have to talkabout? Maizon thought. Bo had been at the same elementary school with her and Margaret. Then, in sixth grade, Maizon had gone off to Blue Hill, a boarding school where she had gotten a scholarship. She only stayed a few months, but while she was gone, Bo and Margaret hung out together a lot. Maizon knew Margaret had a crush the size of the hole in the ozone layer on Bo, but when Maizon asked her about it, Margaret made believe she couldn’t care less. Now she and Margaret were both in the seventh grade at Pace Academy, a private school. Since Bo still lived in the neighborhood, they’d ended up hanging with him more than they ever had before.
    â€œYo, Bo,” Maizon said, taking a seat beside her grandmother on the couch.
    â€œHey, Maiz.” Bo smiled. “Happy New Year.”
    â€œHappy New Year,” Maizon said. She could definitely understand what Margaret saw in Bo. There was a time when even she had thought he was cute. He had smooth dark skin and the high cheekbones that made girls act silly whenever he smiled. But she had grown out of the giggly phase. When she and Bo talked now, it was about serious stuff like the Knicks’ coach or Magic Johnson’s HIV diagnosis or the changes in the neighborhood. She didn’t get butterflies anymore like she had once a long time ago. It was as if she had grown used to Bo now and could see him as he was—a possible friend, an equal. Somebody who had some smart things to say and who liked a good slam-dunk every now and then. Once, she and Bo had even gone one-on-one on the