words would have started with an
S
. Especially my name.
I must have been thinking hard about Mam’s busted-up face because I forgot to be nervous about my collecting when I started out.
When I rang the doorbell at TV Boy’s house I found myself having bad thoughts about him. Sitting there in front of his dumb television day after day without any problems. I thought that a dirt clod upside his head or a rock to smash the screen would make him forget about television for a while. I knew it was dumb to have feelings like that and I knew it was because I was so upset about what had happened to Mam. But that was how I felt and I couldn’t trick myself out of it.
At one house I said Ninety-Five Cents without stuttering. When I was thinking hard about something else it seemed like I forgot to stutter. But I always remembered it again soon enough.
I walked by Mr. Spiro’s house where a few hours earlier I had seen all his books and recited my poem for him.
In my mind it was easy to see him sitting in his big chair reading a book from one of the crates. A book that he had bought in Timbuktu or someplace. He had said the world was in his books and I knew he was right about that for himself but could I find out in books how to help Mam? Or Mrs. Worthington? Could I find out in books about the man who made me with my mother or how to get back my knife from Ara T?
Coming up on Mrs. Worthington’s house I was glad to see that the porch light was on and that there wasn’t a car in the driveway. The last thing I needed was to be yelled at again by Mr. Worthington or to see Greaser Charles.
I rang the doorbell not expecting anyone to be at home but Mrs. Worthington opened the glass door fast like she had been standing there waiting on me.
She had on her red lipstick. Her hair was up on top of her head in a new way. It looked like she had spent a lot of time putting it in its new place. Her eyelashes curled up again but she had on her usual green housecoat instead of a dress. As soon as she opened the door I could smell she had been drinking her whiskey.
How nice to see my sweetie paperboy.
She seemed to be talking okay. The whiskey hadn’t made her start saying her words funny yet.
s-s-s-s-Ninety-five cents for this week. And one s-s-s-s-ninety for two s-s-s-s-more weeks if you want …
She pushed open the screen door so fast it almost hit me in the face.
Sure, sweetie. Come in while I get my handbag.
I let the door close without stepping inside.
The whiskey had a sweet smell and so did the perfume that Mrs. Worthington was wearing. The two sweet smells all mixed in together reminded me of parties at my parents’ house. If the smell gottoo sweet and especially if it got mixed in with the mothballs in the attic I would sneak outside and over to Mam’s room to get away from it.
Come on in, sweetie. Like I told you.
She held the screen door open for me. I didn’t have to think twice about going in to see where Mr. Spiro lived but I wasn’t sure if I should go inside Mrs. Worthington’s house. I was nervous but I went in anyway.
I expected to see stuff all over the floor and broken furniture and glass but what I could see of the house looked company-coming neat. The front hall was smaller than ours but the woodwork looked just as shiny.
Sit there in the living room, sweetie. I’ll be right back with your allowance.
Allowance? Where did she come up with that?
I walked into the living room but as soon as I sat down on the couch the loose change in my pockets started spilling out between the seat cushions. Leaving the coins would make me short on my collections so I pulled up the cushions to start gathering my money. Mrs. Worthington came back in the room with a glass in each hand.
Well look at Mr. Moneybags.
I pulled my hand back like I had been doing something wrong. She put the glasses down on the table.
Anything you find in there is all yours, sweetie.
s-s-s-s-Just want what’s s-s-s-s-mine.
Don’t we
S
. Especially my name.
I must have been thinking hard about Mam’s busted-up face because I forgot to be nervous about my collecting when I started out.
When I rang the doorbell at TV Boy’s house I found myself having bad thoughts about him. Sitting there in front of his dumb television day after day without any problems. I thought that a dirt clod upside his head or a rock to smash the screen would make him forget about television for a while. I knew it was dumb to have feelings like that and I knew it was because I was so upset about what had happened to Mam. But that was how I felt and I couldn’t trick myself out of it.
At one house I said Ninety-Five Cents without stuttering. When I was thinking hard about something else it seemed like I forgot to stutter. But I always remembered it again soon enough.
I walked by Mr. Spiro’s house where a few hours earlier I had seen all his books and recited my poem for him.
In my mind it was easy to see him sitting in his big chair reading a book from one of the crates. A book that he had bought in Timbuktu or someplace. He had said the world was in his books and I knew he was right about that for himself but could I find out in books how to help Mam? Or Mrs. Worthington? Could I find out in books about the man who made me with my mother or how to get back my knife from Ara T?
Coming up on Mrs. Worthington’s house I was glad to see that the porch light was on and that there wasn’t a car in the driveway. The last thing I needed was to be yelled at again by Mr. Worthington or to see Greaser Charles.
I rang the doorbell not expecting anyone to be at home but Mrs. Worthington opened the glass door fast like she had been standing there waiting on me.
She had on her red lipstick. Her hair was up on top of her head in a new way. It looked like she had spent a lot of time putting it in its new place. Her eyelashes curled up again but she had on her usual green housecoat instead of a dress. As soon as she opened the door I could smell she had been drinking her whiskey.
How nice to see my sweetie paperboy.
She seemed to be talking okay. The whiskey hadn’t made her start saying her words funny yet.
s-s-s-s-Ninety-five cents for this week. And one s-s-s-s-ninety for two s-s-s-s-more weeks if you want …
She pushed open the screen door so fast it almost hit me in the face.
Sure, sweetie. Come in while I get my handbag.
I let the door close without stepping inside.
The whiskey had a sweet smell and so did the perfume that Mrs. Worthington was wearing. The two sweet smells all mixed in together reminded me of parties at my parents’ house. If the smell gottoo sweet and especially if it got mixed in with the mothballs in the attic I would sneak outside and over to Mam’s room to get away from it.
Come on in, sweetie. Like I told you.
She held the screen door open for me. I didn’t have to think twice about going in to see where Mr. Spiro lived but I wasn’t sure if I should go inside Mrs. Worthington’s house. I was nervous but I went in anyway.
I expected to see stuff all over the floor and broken furniture and glass but what I could see of the house looked company-coming neat. The front hall was smaller than ours but the woodwork looked just as shiny.
Sit there in the living room, sweetie. I’ll be right back with your allowance.
Allowance? Where did she come up with that?
I walked into the living room but as soon as I sat down on the couch the loose change in my pockets started spilling out between the seat cushions. Leaving the coins would make me short on my collections so I pulled up the cushions to start gathering my money. Mrs. Worthington came back in the room with a glass in each hand.
Well look at Mr. Moneybags.
I pulled my hand back like I had been doing something wrong. She put the glasses down on the table.
Anything you find in there is all yours, sweetie.
s-s-s-s-Just want what’s s-s-s-s-mine.
Don’t we
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