City of Boys Read Online Free PDF Page B

she says, still looking past me, and soon we are sitting together on the rug in front of the television.
    —Oh, she says, —I love this show. She sits only a few feet away from the television, but I can see her eyes traveling all around the room. She leans sideways to look around the corner into the kitchen.
    —What’s she doing? Annie asks.
    —I don’t know, I say, —maybe the crossword puzzle.
    After a moment my mother comes into the room and when I tell her Annie’s name, Annie darts a look at me, surprised and a little suspicious, since she has never exactly told it to me, but she takes my mother’s hand and smiles.
    —You have a very lovely home, she says, and my mother looks startled, then glances around at the white walls, the plain, sturdy furniture.
    —Thank you, she says, and when our show comes back on, she stands politely smoking behind us as we settle back down to watch. Beside me, Annie sits quietly, but I can see her still looking around without moving her head, and behind me my mother breathes smoke in and out; she alone seems to be watching the show, and when a commercial comes on, she goes back into the kitchen, cradling her cigarette ash in her hand.
    —Girls, she calls out after a while, —do you know a six-letter word for child’s toy?
    Annie looks at me.
    —So, I say, —what’s the school like here? Though I already know what it is like; it is like every other school.
    —Oh, Annie says as a new show begins. —Look. She sinks back deeper onto the rug to watch, her elbows propped uncomfortably behind her, and stares at the television, her mouth half open.
    When my father comes home from work, Annie stands immediately. She crosses one long leg coyly behind her and smiles up at my father in a way I can tell she cannot help.
    —You have a very lovely home, she says, and he smiles, pleased.
    —Well, he says, and arranges the pens in his front pocket, pulling them out and putting them back in one by one. My mother watches him and puts another word in her crossword puzzle. When he goes to the icebox and opens the freezer, she folds her newspaper away.
    —Honey, she says to me, —would your friend like to stay for dinner?
    She says this quite naturally, as though, like all families, we always have dinner when my father comes home from work. He looks around at her, his hand still on an ice tray, and, without waiting for an answer, she takes a pot from the cabinet under the stove and opens a cupboard. Annie doesn’t answer, and we all watch my mother as she pulls out cans and looks gaily at the labels. Finally she opens one, and we stare, transfixed, as she empties a can of peas the color of olives into a pot. When the can is empty, Annie takes a step back.
    —Thanks, she says, —but my parents will be expecting me. My mother looks up, confused; she has gone through all of this only for Annie.
    —See you tomorrow, Annie says to me, and when the door clicks behind her, my mother looks down at the can in her hand, then at the pot on the stove; finally she puts the can down and turns off the stove as my father drops ice in her glass. I watch Annie walk slowly home, zigzagging across the street.
    —You’re not hungry are you, honey? my mother asks, and I shake my head and go back to the television as my parents settle into cocktail hour. In the neighborhoods all around us, the boys and girls who will be my friends are getting ready for school to start; they eat their dinners quietly and dread the beginning of another year spent hovering on the borders of things.
    When we finally have dinner, we are all a little dull. I have watched too much television, and my parents have passed beyond the excited flush of cocktail hour. It is too late to eat, so we just sit, pushing the pale green peas from one side of our plates to the other.
    * * *
    Annie appears in just the same way the next day, lounging carefully beside the door when I open it.
    —Hey, she says, —only one more day till school.
    She