Double Dutch by Sharon M. Draper Page A

What’s up?”
    â€œNot you. You sound down—like you’re livin’ in a pit or something.”
    â€œActually, it’s been a pretty good day,” Randy told her. “I was just thinking about getting ready for practice. Starts at five, right?”
    â€œWell, that’s one reason why I called. Bomani’s wife called, and four of their kids have the chicken pox, so he’s canceling practice today.”
    â€œGreat. I mean, I’m not glad his kids are sick, but I didn’t feel like the noise and funk of practice today. I got a lot on my mind.”
    â€œMe, too,” Delia said with a sigh. “You know that the state test is the week after we do our projects.”
    â€œWhy do you care about that? I hear it’s pretty easy.”
    â€œI don’t like any kind of test. And I don’t do good on standardized tests—all those little blue bubbles to fill in and somebody walking down the aisles looking over your shoulder, holding on to a stopwatch—freaks me out.”
    â€œYeah, I feel ya. But you’ll do fine. You’re smart, Delia. Look what a good job you did filming us for Miss Benson’s project.”
    â€œThat was no test-that was fun! I bet we get an A on it.”
    â€œYou got that right. Hey, Delia, what do you think the Tollivers are going to do for their project?”
    â€œI have no idea. Miss Benson tried to get them to tell her, but they just told her wait and see.”
    â€œI think Miss Benson gave the assignment before she had it all figured out. An older teacher would have made us write down what we were going to do, then approved it. Miss Benson is fun, but she’s kinda dumb as a teacher,” Randy said.
    â€œI don’t think she’s dumb—she just doesn’t know all the teacher secrets yet.”
    Randy thought about his own secret that everyone was unaware of.
    â€œWhen do the Tollivers give their presentation?” Delia asked.
    â€œLet’s see. We do ours on Tuesday. If we finish it in time, the Tollivers would do their presentation right after us. Ought to be an interesting day.”
    â€œYeah, I don’t know whether to be scared or worried,” Delia said.
    â€œProbably both.” Randy laughed nervously.
    â€œHow’s your dad?” Delia asked.
    â€œUh, he’s good. Just left last night on another trip.” Randy just couldn’t bring himself to admit that his father had deserted him.
    â€œHow do you manage, Randy? Being by yourself all the time. Don’t you get scared? Or lonely?”
    â€œNaw, I like being alone. No one to mess with me. No one to beat me to the bathroom. I feel like I’m grown—livin’ large—all on my own. It’s great.”
    â€œWell, you got the large part down,” Delia said with a laugh. “The rest is scary to me.”
    â€œI ain’t never been scared,” Randy lied as he imagined his father lying bleeding and dead on the side of the road, or, even worse, happily cooking spaghetti in a city hundreds of miles away, with no thoughts of Randy on his mind.
    â€œWell, I have been, lots of times. The Tollivers scare me. Tests scare me. Thunderstorms freak me out. And being alone terrifies me. I’ll catch you Monday. If you need to call me before then, I’ll be at my dad’s house. Later.”
    Delia hung up, and Randy stared at the phone, thinking about the day, about Delia, and about his dad. He thought about real fear and how it was slipping like smoke under his door, into his space, and throughout his body. He listened to the phone click, echo, then finally beep that annoying sound to let him know he needed to hang it up. He did so slowly, and the silence of the small apartment was somehow suddenly loud and stifling. Randy ran to his room, turned his radio up loud, and fell across his bed. The music bounced off his back as he buried his head in his pillow. He fell asleep with the