London Calling Read Online Free PDF

did.
    I was still half-awake, and half expecting to find out that Nana’s death was part of a dream. I didn’t come fully to my senses until we sat down in a pew in the Chapel and I saw, to my shock, that Hank Lowery and his family were directly in front of us. I doubt he saw me. The few glances I stole in his direction found him always in the same position—slouching to the left, sound asleep, with his mouth open.
    When the mass was over, I led Mom and Margaret out to the parking lot as fast as possible. Once we got inside the car, Margaret did point out, “That Lowery kid’s disgusting. A real slug. Can’t his parents make him close his mouth, at least?”
    Mom shook her head disapprovingly.
    I said, “It’s Lowery’s school. He can do whatever he wants.”
    This roused Mom. “He cannot do whatever he wants, Martin. He has to follow the school rules like everybody else.”
    “No. Actually, he
can
do whatever he wants.”
    Margaret half turned toward the backseat. “What’s this about?”
    “Mom hasn’t told you?”
    “Apparently not.”
    Mom explained, “There was an incident on the last day of school. It involved Martin and some other boys. They damaged the Heroes’ Walk in front of the library.”
    “Really? Martin did that?”
    Mom pulled out of the parking lot. “Father Thomas isn’t sure exactly what happened. He is still investigating.”
    Margaret looked at me and raised one eyebrow. “Well, let me investigate, then. Martin, what happened?”
    I looked out the window just as we passed the scene of the crime. A string of yellow “Caution” tape still blocked off the area. The entrance to the Lowery Library appeared to be finished, though. All the debris had been cleared away; the marble pedestals were set in place; I couldn’t see any chips missing from any of their corners. I finally answered, “I’m not sure. I’d better not say anything until Father Thomas is done checking with the Lowery family to find out what they say happened.”
    Mom interjected, “Father Thomas has collected statements from everyone who was involved.”
    “Right. I’m sure he’s reading mine very carefully.”
    Mom slammed to a halt at the entrance and stared at me in the mirror. “We’re not going to do this now, Martin. We have had a death in the family, and we have a long trip ahead of us today.”
    Mom then pulled out with as much acceleration as our little Civic could muster, indicating that the conversation was over. But Margaret looked at me knowingly. She had done her time at All Souls Prep, three years. She knew how things worked there.

    Our house was so close to the Princeton Junction train station that we could have walked there, even with suitcases. Mom, however, would have found that far too embarrassing. Instead, we drove our car there and paid ten dollars a day to park in the lot.
    My dad had never had a problem with walking. That’s how he got to work. He was a relief manager for a restaurant chain called National Steakhouses. Most National Steakhouses were located in airports, so it was a perfect setup for him. He would walk to the train station, ride north for thirty minutes to Newark, and then fly to any airport that had a National Steakhouse and a hotel. As a result, he had more frequent-flyer miles than he could use in a lifetime. He would arrive at some city and manage the National Steakhouse while the real manager went on vacation, then reverse the travel process and come home. No cars; no driving—which was a good thing because his license had been suspended and he had never renewed it.
    Following our less-than-one-minute drive to the station, Mom cruised the parking lot for ten minutes trying to find a space. After we fed thirty dollars into the parking meter, we walked for another two minutes to the office and purchased our tickets. Then Mom and Margaret sat on the long wooden benches in the station while I stepped outside, leaned over the tracks, and looked south, hoping to see