mystery. Normally, she would like it, but right now what she needed to do was figure out how to find an alligator. She took two small steps backward to be closer to the door to the hall.
“It’s called either a Mexican yam bean or a Chinese turnip. Go figure. But its real name is jicama, and it is a staple in Central America.”
“Hee-ka-ma, hee-ka-ma!” The way Mr. Sanders pronounced the word sent Razi into a bounce. Bouncing also got him closer to the packet on the counter. “Do alligators like hee-ka-ma?”
Mr. Sanders didn’t seem at all surprised by the way Razi changed the subject. Three years of working in the Alger Heights neighborhood had taught him all about Razi. He quickly washed his hands and began peelingthe skin off the jicama, using the knife and cutting board Mama always left next to the soup pot.
“I haven’t asked my alligator friends about jicama,” Mr. Sanders said, slicing off a piece and holding it out to Keisha. “But next time they come by for a game of cards, I’ll be sure to try it on them.”
“We could ask ours, but we lost him,” Razi informed Mr. Sanders. “He was taking a bath and then Grandma said ‘Jumpin’ Jimmy Choo’ and then she said ‘I could swear that door was closed’ and then Mama and Daddy made us promise to stay in the kitchen and then—”
“Can baby Paulo try some jicama?” Keisha broke in, trying to redirect the conversation. She didn’t think they should tell Mr. Sanders about the alligator. He liked to chat with all the neighbors, and it wouldn’t look very good for Carters’ Urban Rescue if people knew they’d caught the alligator in the city pool only to lose it in their house.
“Well, sure. I think he’d like jicama. It’s sort of a cross between a water chestnut and an apple. But about this alligator—”
Razi had finally reached the packet on the counter. He grabbed it by the corner and held it out to Mr. Sanders. “Please open this for me. Please? I’ll give you a marble. I’ll give you a bottle cap.”
“I’ll help you, Razi.” Keisha took it and tore it open. She didn’t want him to trade away the baby. Last week, he’d offered baby Paulo to the grocery clerk for a Snickers bar. Besides, she wanted to get a good look at this whatever-it-was.
It was a plastic case, no bigger than a deck of playing cards, with a sticker on it that made it look like a music player. She could tell right away that if you pulled the ring on the string dangling from the case, it would play a song. This was a song she was about to become very familiar with. Keisha wondered if she’d like it.
Mr. Sanders put down his knife. “What I think you do, buddy, is pull on this string here…. Wait a minute … it’s tangled….”
While Mr. Sanders was messing with the toy, Keisha broke off a small piece of her jicama and put it in baby Paulo’s mouth. She’d found this to be the very best way to test whether something was going to taste yucky. If babies didn’t like something, they made a horrible face and spit it out. It was a fine thing to do if you were a baby, but it didn’t go over very well when you were ten.
There was a great deal of clattering in the hall outside the kitchen, and Grandma was explaining to Daddy, “Of course the back door is latched. It was latched when I went out to water the primroses, and …well, I latched it for sure the first time, but I had to go back out to scare the Zingermans’ cat away from the bird feeder. That time, I can’t be sure.”
Baby Paulo, whose mouth had just been full of Cheerios a moment before, made an unhappy face, but he didn’t spit out the jicama. This meant it might not be too bad. Keisha threw another handful of Cheerios on his tray and popped the rest of the jicama in her mouth.
“It tastes crunchy,” she said, speaking loud enough to cover up the Grandma noises in the hall. “Mmmmm. You should try it, Razi.”
But Razi was on the kitchen floor, full of concentration, trying to
“It’s called either a Mexican yam bean or a Chinese turnip. Go figure. But its real name is jicama, and it is a staple in Central America.”
“Hee-ka-ma, hee-ka-ma!” The way Mr. Sanders pronounced the word sent Razi into a bounce. Bouncing also got him closer to the packet on the counter. “Do alligators like hee-ka-ma?”
Mr. Sanders didn’t seem at all surprised by the way Razi changed the subject. Three years of working in the Alger Heights neighborhood had taught him all about Razi. He quickly washed his hands and began peelingthe skin off the jicama, using the knife and cutting board Mama always left next to the soup pot.
“I haven’t asked my alligator friends about jicama,” Mr. Sanders said, slicing off a piece and holding it out to Keisha. “But next time they come by for a game of cards, I’ll be sure to try it on them.”
“We could ask ours, but we lost him,” Razi informed Mr. Sanders. “He was taking a bath and then Grandma said ‘Jumpin’ Jimmy Choo’ and then she said ‘I could swear that door was closed’ and then Mama and Daddy made us promise to stay in the kitchen and then—”
“Can baby Paulo try some jicama?” Keisha broke in, trying to redirect the conversation. She didn’t think they should tell Mr. Sanders about the alligator. He liked to chat with all the neighbors, and it wouldn’t look very good for Carters’ Urban Rescue if people knew they’d caught the alligator in the city pool only to lose it in their house.
“Well, sure. I think he’d like jicama. It’s sort of a cross between a water chestnut and an apple. But about this alligator—”
Razi had finally reached the packet on the counter. He grabbed it by the corner and held it out to Mr. Sanders. “Please open this for me. Please? I’ll give you a marble. I’ll give you a bottle cap.”
“I’ll help you, Razi.” Keisha took it and tore it open. She didn’t want him to trade away the baby. Last week, he’d offered baby Paulo to the grocery clerk for a Snickers bar. Besides, she wanted to get a good look at this whatever-it-was.
It was a plastic case, no bigger than a deck of playing cards, with a sticker on it that made it look like a music player. She could tell right away that if you pulled the ring on the string dangling from the case, it would play a song. This was a song she was about to become very familiar with. Keisha wondered if she’d like it.
Mr. Sanders put down his knife. “What I think you do, buddy, is pull on this string here…. Wait a minute … it’s tangled….”
While Mr. Sanders was messing with the toy, Keisha broke off a small piece of her jicama and put it in baby Paulo’s mouth. She’d found this to be the very best way to test whether something was going to taste yucky. If babies didn’t like something, they made a horrible face and spit it out. It was a fine thing to do if you were a baby, but it didn’t go over very well when you were ten.
There was a great deal of clattering in the hall outside the kitchen, and Grandma was explaining to Daddy, “Of course the back door is latched. It was latched when I went out to water the primroses, and …well, I latched it for sure the first time, but I had to go back out to scare the Zingermans’ cat away from the bird feeder. That time, I can’t be sure.”
Baby Paulo, whose mouth had just been full of Cheerios a moment before, made an unhappy face, but he didn’t spit out the jicama. This meant it might not be too bad. Keisha threw another handful of Cheerios on his tray and popped the rest of the jicama in her mouth.
“It tastes crunchy,” she said, speaking loud enough to cover up the Grandma noises in the hall. “Mmmmm. You should try it, Razi.”
But Razi was on the kitchen floor, full of concentration, trying to
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