Best Boy Read Online Free PDF

bigger than mine.
    Up and down all of us went until we had walked past almost every store in the mall. Sometimes Mike would let us stop to buy little things but I wasn’t interested. For me it was enough to get off the Payton campus that I knew every brick of, every pebble and blade of grass, along with how it looked to see everything out of the corner of your eye or staring at it straight ahead.
    It wasn’t till I was sitting in the food court having an Orange Julius that I again remembered my Idea which I’d forgotten about for a whole hour. I smiled for so long I could feel the air-conditioning on my teeth.
    Once the Orange Julius was finished, Mike led all of us to a nearby bookstore where he said he needed something and that we should all wait. I was a “champ” at waiting. When I waited, nothing had yet happened so everything could still be okay. Rocking helped. Rocking meant setting the waiting to a song in my head by moving forward and back on my feet and sometimes actually singing something that was really little groaning sounds of breathing or I made my “wheee” sound if I was excited and rocked and smiled with my eyes shut. “Are you a horse?” a staff asked me once when he saw me doing this.
    But back in the mall another thing happened that made me think my Idea was a good Idea.
    When I opened my eyes from rocking, I saw a whole bookcase in front of me filled with maps.
    That knew exactly the roads that led to every single place.
    I stopped rocking suddenly and concentrated on one of the signs in front of me.
    â€œState and Local Maps,” it said. I pulled out several of these maps until I found the ones I wanted and then took them with me to find Mike who was looking at a big book with a naked woman on the cover that he shut with a crack as I came close.
    â€œPainting,” he said to the air over my head.
    â€œCan I have these?” I held up the maps and the change purse that was heavy with coins from work mostly at the Demont Memorial High School cafeteria.
    â€œWell, lookie here,” said Mike. “He speaks without being asked a question. What’s up?”
    â€œMaps,” I said and made my special smile that used as few muscles as possible.
    â€œOh yeah? Planning on getting your driver’s license anytime soon?”
    Mike looked around to see if there was anyone there he could get to laugh with him. But there was no one there.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œWhatever, sure,” he muttered, turning away.
    All the drive home I kept looking at the maps. When I got to my room I piled them in a special place on the dresser where Raykene insisted I keep a Bible. The maps had crisp edges. When I opened them for the first time they sprayed fresh papery air into my face. My parents loved to plan routes on maps by taking a soft-headed felt pen and drawing lines along places theywanted to go. Momma packed sandwiches for those trips in wax paper that was the color of a brown cloud you could see pieces of food through. She wore shorts and a striped shirt. Daddy whistled happily. We were in the station wagon called an Olds 88 and driving down the highway to the Sandy Hook beach where the sun was a giant room you could sit in and watch the waves walking towards you and falling on their faces.
    But that was a long time ago and now I was interested in another thing that maps could do which was much simpler: do what Daddy called, “Get the hell from Point A to Point B.”
    I found the map that had both the town where Payton was and the town where I was born years ago and I got a pencil and drew a 744-mile line between the two, again and again. I began doing the same thing every day when I got home from work and soon I created a river of lead so slippery that my hand would start at my Payton apartment and then automatically slide partway across the country and back home.
    NINE
    O NCE A WEEK WE HAVE A MEETING WITH OUR Main to talk about