Al Capone Does My Homework Read Online Free PDF Page B

she didn’t
     want to go.
    I stick with the stuff I feel confident about and skim over the part where I messed
     up. I’m trying hard to convince myself I didn’t fall asleep. That I’m not really to
     blame.
    “Sounds like you did a hero’s job getting Nat out like that,” Dad says.
    I can’t look him in the eye. I focus on the dirty watermarks on the balcony floor
     and then out at the water, black as olives with the same shiny skin. I know he’s going
     to ask me why I didn’t notice the fire until it got out of control.
    “We done here, Dad? Could I go back to the Mattamans’?”
    “I still don’t understand what happened,” my father says.
    I stare at the Mattamans’ door, imagining myself buried in the blankets on the living
     room floor. “I don’t want to keep the Mattamans up,” I say.
    My father puts his hand on my shoulder. “All right, son,” he says. “Suppose it can
     wait till tomorrow.”
    I duck out from under his hand.
    I know he’s looking at me. I can feel the heat of his gaze as I pull open the Mattamans’
     door and disappear inside.

6. Fits and Whispers
    Monday, January 20, 1936
    When I wake up, it’s past ten in the morning, the light is streaming in through the
     windows, and Mrs. Mattaman is frying sausages. Rocky is setting up his blocks and
     knocking them down. “Boomy-boomy-boomy,” Rocky says. Nat and Theresa are playing the
     name-that-state game. Theresa points to one of the forty-eight states and Nat tells
     what page of the book the state is on.
    If only this was a regular sleepover and we could just walk home now.
    “Natalie,” I say, “the fire last night . . . do you know how it started?”
    “It started in the kitchen, I think,” Natalie says.
    “That’s what I think. Hey, wait a minute, that’s what I said.”
    “Moose said,” Natalie agrees.
    “Okay, but what do
you
think?”
    Natalie sits on her hands and rocks back and forth. Sometimes dealing with Nat is
     like playing baseball without the ball. You got to make up the whole game yourself.
    “Moose,” Mrs. Mattaman calls from the kitchen. “You and Natalie want some breakfast?”
    “Sure, Mrs. Mattaman, thanks.”
    Nat jumps up. Like me, she can always eat, especially when Mrs. Mattaman is doing
     the cooking.
    I head for the kitchen, but Nat gets stuck at the light switch, on-off-on-off.
    “Okay, Nat, that’s enough,” I say, and to my surprise she stops.
    “I made you chocolate chip pancakes and sausages, and we’ve got leftover cinnamon
     apples,” Mrs. Mattaman says.
    “Thanks,” I tell her.
    “She loves cooking for you,” Jimmy whispers. “Probably because you’d eat the phone
     book and say it was delicious. Then burp a few names or a number here and there.”
    I nod. “Phone book burps are so satisfying.”
    “Janet Trixle is a big fat liar,” Theresa blurts out at the table as she picks the
     chocolate chips from her pancakes and piles them on her plate.
    “Theresa,” Mrs. Mattaman scolds. “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything
     at all.”
    “What if Janet is a liar? What if she really is? She said Natalie burned down your
     apartment. But I told her that was a lie and then her mom said it was time for me
     to go.”
    Mrs. Mattaman’s lips pinch up tight. “Let’s not talk about this right now, Theresa.”
    “She said her daddy is going to be the warden too.” Theresa is unstoppable.
    “I said not now, Theresa.”
    “You said not to talk about the fire. I’m talking about her daddy. That’s different.”
    “Let’s not talk about the Trixles or the fire,” Mrs. Mattaman suggests.
    Theresa holds up a pancake that looks like it’s full of bullet holes where she picked
     the chocolate chips out.
    “Don’t play with your food,” Mrs. Mattaman tells her.
    We’ve just finished when my father raps
dum-de-de-dum
on the door. My mother teaches music, but it’s my father who likes to sing and dance.
     “Hey all, good morning,” he