The Pigman's Legacy (The Sequel to The Pigman) by Paul Zindel Page A

her doghouse-shaped pocketbook and took out a half pint of blackberry brandy. “This will really hit the spot,” she said, pouring the Colonel a small shot.
    The Colonel grunted and took a sip.
    “Are you sure that's good for him?” I asked.
    “Of course it is,” Dolly replied. “It's organic.”
    It got so it felt as if we were butting into Dolly and the Colonel's private little party, so John and I went out and did the dishes. Later on Dolly served ice cream for dessert.
    “Tastes like homemade,” the Colonel grunted.
    Dolly took the Colonel's hand at that point and gave it a big squeeze. Then she turned to us and said, “Oh, my darlings, this has been wonderful, hasn't it? I haven't enjoyed myself this much in years. Everything's lookin' up, lookin' up.” Her pom-pom earrings flickered now as though they were on fire. John and I decided it would be a good idea if he and I took a walk and let the two of them be alone.
    “You kids are swell,” Dolly said to that idea. “You kids are just swell.”
    The night was getting rather cool, and a fog was coming in off the ocean and we could actually see it ducking under the Verrazano Bridge. John took my hand and we walked the whole length of Howard Avenue, past the convent and the whole string of fancy houses perched on the cliffs. We even went past the house where Eileen Farrell, the famous opera singer, used to live, and farther down there was an old house where Dame Sybil Leek did a television program about spooks in an old stucco house. I don't know why, but I love to walk by famous people's houses. The most famous person's house I ever walked past was Phyllis Whitney's house, which happened to be in St. George, but on a street much higher up than where the Colonel's town house was. I loved reading all the mysteries she wrote. And one time she came to my high school and gave a great speech where she told a fantastic story about somebody and then at the end of the story we found out that the somebody was somebody famous like Einstein or Mary Baker Eddy. As we walked, John did a lot of talking about the Colonel and Dolly, and how strange old people are. He thought the two of them acted like two-year-old babies when they meet each other for the first time in supermarket baskets. Little babies wave to each other and smile and reach out even though they've never met before.
    Right here I'm going to start another paragraph I'm not going to let John read until we're finished writing the book; then I'll stick it in. As we were walking along I wasn't listening to John's babblings. I was more focused in on the fact that he was holding my hand and at least four times I just wanted to stop, put my arms around him and kiss him on the lips. Sometimes I think a girl has to do something like that, because some boys are really slow. I also have a theory that there are a lot of homely girls who get very good-looking boys because they are aggressive and make up for good-looking boys' shyness. There's a girl, Peggy Lamberti, who really is physically a disaster, even so much as having bumps on her nose. But she goes after all the shy terrific-looking guys and gets them. She has what's called personality. That means that she can play the piano, compliment the boys a mile a minute, and dance in these skirts that flare out. In situations where other girls would be in tears, Peggy laughs delightfully. The more John talked about the Colonel and Dolly, the more my mind drifted to every thought I ever had about love and sex. Of course there was a lot of information in my head about love and sex because recently the public-school system on Staten Island canceled a big Sex and Love Information Conference that was supposed to be held under the auspices of the Mental Health Society. The principals of the schools decided it was too risky, so the kids decided to chip in and support the conference anyway outside of school. It was a terrific day, and I learned a lot of things from all the various