Al Capone Does My Homework Read Online Free PDF Page A

fire,” Donny offers.
    “In the electrician’s apartment?” Bea Trixle asks.
    “Old rags soaked with cleaning fluid or linseed oil. Old wiring on the stove. Could
     have been a lot of things,” Donny tells her.
    “Cam runs a loose ship. Can’t even control his own kids. I been saying that all along,”
     Darby snarls.
    I glare at him, pushing away the thoughts of Nat making sandwiches by herself.
    She wouldn’t have tried to make something on the stove, would she? Tea maybe? She
     likes lemon tea.
    I can’t believe I let myself fall asleep.
    Bea stamps her foot like she’s trying to shake the ash off. “An ounce of prevention
     is worth a pound of cure. If somebody’d kept an eye on her tonight, we wouldn’t have
     spent half the night shuttling water buckets.”
    “Ma’am,” I say as she turns and walks away, her steps clipped and dangerous.
    “I’ll tell you what!” Bea shouts over her shoulder. “Somebody better watch her. Or
     we all ought to sleep with our shoes on. She could set the place on fire all over
     again, yes she could.”
    “She doesn’t like to sleep with her shoes on. I like to. It’s fun,” Janet offers.
    “One hundred and sixteen windows,” Natalie says, rocking back and forth, her eyes
     down at her shoes. “One hundred and sixteen windows in the front.”
    “No funny business,” I whisper.
    “What? What’s she saying?” Bea demands, circling back to Natalie.
    “How many windows there are in 64 building,” I explain.
    “What’s that got to do with the price of peaches? See, that’s what I’m saying. She’s
     unpredictable. And in an emergency—” Bea drills in.
    “You know, Mrs. Trixle, ma’am,” Donny says, “seems pretty important to me. I sure
     would want to know how many windows if 64 building was burning down.”
    Bea’s face blanches. “Well,” she tut-tuts, “you keep an eye on her, you hear. I won’t
     have my family burned alive because of a retarded girl.”
    “She’s not retarded.” My voice cracks.
    “Well, she isn’t normal, that’s for sure.”
    I rise up inside myself. “You’re dead wrong, ma’am. She’s better than normal. You
     just can’t see it, that’s all.”

5. On My Watch
    Sunday, January 19, 1936
    Nat curls up on the floor in Theresa and Jimmy’s room and falls asleep before Mrs.
     Mattaman has the milk poured and the cookies on a plate. After everything that happened
     tonight, I’m so keyed up I may never close my eyes again.
    Jimmy and I have made beds in the living room with pillows and blankets. We can’t
     stop going over everything we saw tonight. I can almost pretend it didn’t happen to
     my apartment but someone else’s instead. It’s easier to imagine that, than picture
     how I will tell my parents.
    “But how did it start? Fires don’t start on their own,” I tell Jimmy.
    “Either it was arson or an accident.”
    “Arson?”
    “Could be. Who knows?” Jimmy says.
    “But if it was arson, who could have done it? The cons were on lockdown.”
    “Okay, you two.” Mrs. Mattaman comes by and sits on the arm of the couch. “We aren’t
     going to figure it all out tonight. Don’t you have something else to talk about? Stamp
     collecting maybe.”
    I don’t want to talk about stamp collecting.
    “I do have a new hobby,” Jimmy tells me when she’s gone.
    “Besides the cockroaches?” I ask. Jimmy used to raise flies but now he’s moved on
     to cockroaches. I don’t get the fascination with weird bugs.
    “Belly button mold,” he whispers.
    This is the thing about Jimmy . . . he might actually be serious. “C’mon, mold doesn’t
     really grow in there, does it?”
    Jimmy nods firmly. “Yes it does.”
    “So . . . you’re making cheese in your belly button?”
    “Belly button cheese,” Jimmy confirms with a straight face. “Turns out you can grow
     anything you want in there.”
    “Yeah . . . show me the cheese.
This
I have to see.”
    Jimmy shakes his head. “Not ready