In Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page A

said. “Everything has to be proofed that day. So it’s gotta be Wednesday.”
    “Yessir,” I said.
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    “That’s what I like. Fealty.” Paul has a crooked smile that I admit I think is cute.
    The best thing about Paul as an editor is that he loves words. He finds new ones every day, like fealty, that he puts on the office blackboard. Today’s was OSCITANT:
    “Some of you have been singularly OSCITANT of late. Wake up!” The dictionary was open to the page: 1. Yawning, gaping from drowsiness. 2. Inattentive, dull, negligent.
    “See, no yawning,” I said.
    Anyway, the last thing in the world I feel right now is inattentive.
    “At least give me a rundown of your stories,” he said, tapping his pencil on the notebook he always carries.
    “You know that boycott of the buses in Montgomery, Alabama?”
    “Where the Negroes have to sit in the back.”
    “Right. Well, it started after a Negro lady wouldn’t give up her seat to a white man.”
    He nodded.
    “But guess what? A teenage girl did it before the lady.” I watched Paul closely to see if he’d known that. His eyebrows rose—Yes! a sweet editorial coup. I checked my notebook. “Claudette Colvin. She’s fifteen, and the court case is in her name and three other people’s, not the lady.” I paused to let that interesting fact sink in. “It’s what you always say, Paul. Kids can make a difference.”
    “Yeah, yeah. No toadying to the boss!” 36

    “And the lead is a piece on Elvis Presley.”
    “The new singer?”
    “You didn’t watch the Milton Berle Show ?” Actually I hadn’t either. “Then you’ll have to wait to find out.” He nodded. He’s good that way. If he trusts you, he’s willing to give you a little room to play.
    “What happens if I can’t make it Wednesday?” I said.
    He scowled. “You won’t have a byline this week, not something any serious writer wants to forego.” He’s right. I like having a byline.
    Paul tossed his notebook onto the desk, always a sign he’s finished with Record business. “Want to listen to the Dodger game this weekend?”
    We have a radio in the office, and we’re allowed to come in on Saturday to work on the paper. Kay asked me if I was dating Paul. I said absolutely not. Besides, no way a radio date is a date.
    “Sure,” I said.
    “By the way, isn’t your dad supposed to be coming home soon?”
    Paul’s been a good friend through all of this, and I trust him, but I can’t help it, it’s not something I want to talk about. I grabbed my books and headed for the door. I tossed an answer so very casually over my shoulder. “Yup.
    He’s home. See you later.”
    “Wait up, Jamie. Another assignment.” I could walk out on friend Paul, but not editor Paul. I remained by the door.
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    “I’d like an article about what it’s like to be a political prisoner in our system.”
    I froze. “You can’t ask me to do that. I’m sorry, you just can’t.”
    “Hey, I’m not crazy. I know that.”
    I reached for the doorknob.
    “ I’d like to interview him. Will you ask him if he’ll do it?”
    I stared at him. “You’re serious?”
    He nodded. “Maybe after the Dodger game we could go back to your apartment.”
    “I’m going to skip the game.” And I left.
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    8.
    Dad had been almost completely silent the first week after our one talk. It was as if he was fighting just to get through each day. He was better, he kept saying, but I wonder if Mom has seen him cry.
    For me, it’s back to a little bit of normal, like having tea and cookies with Grandma after school if I don’t stay late. We were in her room, the tray on her night table, Grandma in her rocker, me on her bed, when the phone rang.
    “It’s for you,” Grandma said.
    She handed me the phone. Before I could say a word, I heard Elaine scream, “Jamie! Where are you!” Even Grandma could hear her. She adjusted a hairpin, nodded, and went into the living room. She’s good that way.
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    “I’m here. What’s