Grover G. Graham and Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

stupid or what? Grover, the human vacuum cleaner, would suck that stuff—
shloop
—straight into his mouth.
    Sure enough, out flicked his little red tongue.
    “No, Grover,” said the girl.
    He lifted the case to his mouth.
    “No.”
    No
wasn’t going to stop Grover. I remembered him blinking at me when I had yelled the word. Then popping my night-light into his mouth.
    “No.” The girl removed the paint case from the pudgy fist.
    Of course, Grover howled.
    I knew I shouldn’t get involved—this was his mother— but that “waaah” sounded pitiful.
    “Hide the paints,” I suggested. “Give him a toy to play with.”
    The girl flashed a look at me. Like I was calling her stupid or something. Then her eyes hardened.
    “Everyone tries to tell me how to take care of my kid,” she said. “He has to learn the meaning of ‘no.’”
    Grover continued to cry.
    Poor little guy. I waited for the girl to do something, but she didn’t move. So I reached down and picked the kid up. Pat-pat-patted his back. Grover sniffled once and rubbed his face on my shirt. Tears and drool all over.
    That fast, the girl grabbed the baby.
    I stumbled back. “Hey! I was just trying to help.”
    “I know what to do.”
    Grover whimpered and reached for me.
    The girl’s face turned red. “You an expert?” she sneered at me, jiggling Grover in a way I knew he hated. “You been raised by a perfect mama?”
    Her words stung. What did she know about me or Sarah Jewel? As for “expert,” I probably knew her kid better than she did. Where was she when I was taking care of him every day?
    I looked the girl up … down, from the spider-lash eyes to the tight T-shirt to the red stuff on her toenails. “My mama’s probably about as perfect as you,” I said coldly, walking out the door.
    Back in Jake’s room I sat on the bed. I tried to blank out the paint set. I tried to blank out the girl.
    But there are some things you can’t blank out. What if Grover had choked on that teeny brush? Or poisoned himself with the paints?
    I gazed up at Jake’s gold trophy men. It’s not fair, I thought. Some kids get born to two parents, their own rooms, refrigerators stuffed with hot dogs and Twinkies.
    And other kids get a mother like Tracey.
    I bet Sarah Jewel was like Tracey. If so, I’m glad she disappeared. I’d rather be alone than with a mother like that. I can take care of myself.
    But Grover was a baby. Who’d take care of him?
    I marched back downstairs, straight to the kitchen, where Mrs. T. was cracking eggs in a bowl.
    I said, “Shouldn’t you be supervising?”
    Mrs. Torgle’s wrinkles folded up in surprise.
    No wonder. Up to this point, our conversations had consisted of her asking whether I wanted more potatoes or Jell-O and me answering yes or no.
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
    Well, if there’s one thing the system teaches, it’s not to squeal. Do you think you’d last long running to foster Mommy with tales about another kid? No. Keep your mouth shut, stay out of the way. That’s the best way to deal.
    But here I was, steering dead straight for trouble.
    I crossed my arms. “You should be in the living room with Grover.”
    Mrs. Torgle put down her spoon. “What’s wrong?”
    So I told her. I squealed like a piggy going to market.
    Wee-wee-wee.
All about the paint set and the stupid mother and the crying baby.
    Mrs. Torgle sighed. “Poor Tracey.”
    Poor
Tracey?
What about Grover?
    “Tracey had a hard go of it when her parents died. But she’s learning how to take care of her baby. There’s a special class—”
    “Well, she’s flunking.”
    Mrs. Torgle’s wrinkles settled into a frown. “Don’t be too hard on her, Ben—”
    “What did Tracey do,” I interrupted, “that made her lose Grover?”
    “She didn’t
lose
him.” A sharp tone edged her words. “This is a temporary arrangement.”
    Believe me, I know the system. A mother’s got to mess up bad to lose her baby. Even temporarily. I know