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

was heavy and warm.
    That glowy feeling hung on as we piled back in the car but dimmed as we drove through town. The broken lock jiggled while I gazed out the window. Everything looked so bleached by the sun that, I swear, this place should be called Fadefield. We passed the dingy cobbler’s, the pharmacy and its cluttered window, the beauty salon where the haircuts all looked the same. The Hartmans’ house, freshly painted not three weeks before, was the hard yellow of a yolk boiled too long. My Number Seven. I wondered ifKitty and Ken were happy smooching in North Carolina. I blanked out a sudden sadness.
    The Torglemobile kept chugging and soon was turning into a parking lot. Seven red letters gleamed on a huge store:
S-A-F-E-W-A-Y.
As its doors parted before me, I stood on the black mat for a moment, looking in. I felt the air, soundless and cool, drying the sweat on my face.
    Safeway. Everything here was bright and clean. I liked rolling a wire cart up and down the ten white aisles. I liked choosing one perfect apple from a pile of fruit or comparing the prices of soup.
    Shopping with Mr. T. and the twins, though, was nothing like that. Mr. T. read aloud from his list, the girls whizzed the cart, and I tossed—no,
flung
—boxes and cans into it. I bet that wire cart had never rattled so fast.
    The twins chattered all the way to our next stop: Uddleston’s, the ice cream shop next to the Greyhound bus station. I remembered trips there with other foster families. I always ordered a vanilla shake, thick and sweet, and tried to make it last.
    As I stirred my vanilla shake I watched a Greyhound bus pull up. Sleek and silver. So full of shine it outdid the sun. I watched folks climb down the stairs, swinging their bags and cases. I watched others stepping in.
    Where had they come from? Where were they going? I wondered if Sarah Jewel had watched the buses when she was a kid. If that was when her footloose gene had kicked in. I started daydreaming about the day I would be leaving. Leaving Greenfield and not looking back.
    “Earth to Ben.” Twin milk-shake slurps and giggles. “Come in, Ben.”
    Kate and Jango. Were they ever quiet? They would have
lived
in the time-out closet at the Crawdiches’.
    Turning, I caught a look from Mr. T. Almost as if he could see my leaving-town dreams. I let my face go blank.
    But all he said was, “Ready for the library?”
    When we chugged up, car door jiggling, it was good to see the blue doors again, the space inside neat as Safeway. Almost closing time, but the twins set up such a boo-hoo for library cards that Mr. T. completed the forms right there. I spun the paperback rack, checking out covers, avoiding anything with a rose, a bird, or the color pink. Bound to be mushy.
Where Eagles Dare
showed an icy mountain, a cable car, some guy dropping to his death. I grabbed it and headed for the checkout desk, passing a row of little-kid books.
The Cat in the Hat. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
The
Hop on Pop
cover showed two baby bears bouncing on a big one. Like Grover bouncing on Charmaine. Maybe the little guy would like a book. And if he didn’t, at least I wouldn’t be out any cash.
    The librarian was looking at me, then at her watch. As I passed the used-book table one title caught my eye.
    Baby and Child Care.
    I picked up the book. It had a torn cover and dingy pages. It must be a hundred years old.
    You an expert?
I remembered Tracey Graham’s sneer.
    I glanced at the name of the author. Dr. Benjamin Spock. Doctor. That would make him an expert, right?
    I read the back cover. The book was enlarged, revised, updated. And only twenty-five cents. Sure, it was old, buthow much could babies have changed? From all I’ve seen on TV, the basics stay the same. Babies poop, cry, eat, mess with stuff they shouldn’t. I figured I could give the book to Mrs. T. to give to Tracey. It might help more than those classes.

Chapter Eight
    A fter dinner I headed to Jake’s room with