Last Summer with Maizon by Jacqueline Woodson

1
    M argaret dangled her legs over the edge of the fire escape and flipped to a clean page in her diary.
    â€œI haven’t written in a long time,” she began, “but now with this Blue Hill thing and all, I feel like I should. Maizon took a test in April. If she passes, she’s going to go to this big private school in Connecticut.
    â€œEvery night I pray she doesn’t get accepted.”
    She heard a rumble and looked out toward the bridge. The train was a long shadow in the twilight, creeping slowly across water she couldn’t see. She watched it for a moment, then stood up and searched the block for Maizon. Lights flickered on and off in the brownstones across from her. A hot summer breeze blew out of the darkness.
    Margaret sat down again and continued writing.
    â€œI don’t know why Maizon has to go to some dumb boarding school anyway. The schools in Brooklyn are fine. And when I say Blue Hill out loud, it makes me think of someplace sad and cold all the time. Maizon said it probably isn’t so cold in Connecticut. She doesn’t know about the sad part though. She said without a best friend, it’ll probably get a little lonely. Ms. Dell said we shouldn’t go counting our chickens because we’re not even sure if Maizon’s going to get accepted or not. Every day, we wait for a letter. I feel like I’m on one of those balance beams we have in gym class-balancing between today and tomorrow.”
    Margaret closed the book and climbed back inside just as her father came into the living room. She looked at the small blue suitcase he was carrying and frowned.
    â€œJust some tests,” he said softly, sitting down beside her on the window ledge. Another train rumbled and somewhere in the distance a baby was crying.
    â€œHow long will the hospital keep you this time?” Margaret asked. She remembered her last visit and started to tremble.
    Her father rested his chin on the top of her head. “Until they find out what’s making this old ticker act the way it’s acting. Could be a week. Could be a day.” His voice trailed off. Margaret put her arms around him.
    â€œDon’t let them take the life out of you, Daddy,” she whispered. She remembered her father’s dark, handsome face looking shriveled and old beneath the hospital covers.
    â€œWhat makes you think your daddy’s gonna let something like that happen?” He sat up straight and Margaret felt a cold spot where his chin had been.
    â€œListen here, Margaret ...” he began, taking her chin in his hands and gently pulling her face toward him.
    Behind the slow smile he gave her he looked tired and worried. The wrinkles between his thick eyebrows cut deeply into his forehead.
    â€œYou gonna have to hold this family together while I’m gone, take care of your mama and Li’l Jay.”
    Margaret nodded.
    A shadow crossed her father’s face. “It might take a little while for me to get back on my feet after all these silly tests they gonna run. But don’t worry your pretty little head about that. It would take a lot for one of them skinny plastic tubes to bring this six-footer down.”
    Her father brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “Why does your mama think she needs to hide all of this pretty hair?”
    Margaret smiled and shrugged, then turned a little so her father could undo her braid. His hands felt strong and sure.
    â€œThere now. Pretty head of hair like that needs to hang free.” He kissed her on the forehead.
    Margaret ran her fingers through her hair. It hung to her shoulders in thick waves.
    â€œWhere’s that crazy Maizon?” he asked, leaning back out of the window and taking a quick look down the block.
    â€œShe’s coming.”
    â€œMaybe she’ll even get here before tomorrow.” Her father laughed.
    Her mother came out of the bedroom, with Li’l Jay following behind her. At fourteen months, walking