Maniac Magee Read Online Free PDF Page A

dog Bow Wow were in the backyard wrestling and tickling and jumping and just generally going wild with their new buddy — and victim — Maniac Magee.
    Maniac was still there when Mr. Beale came home from his Saturday shift at the tire factory.
    He was there for dinner, when Hester and Lester pushed their chairs alongside his.
    He was there to help Amanda mend her torn book.
    He was there watching TV afterward, with Hester riding one knee, Lester the other.
    He was there when Hester and Lester came screaming down the stairs with a book, Amanda screaming even louder after them, the kids shoving the book and themselves onto Maniac’s lap, Amanda finally calming down because they didn’t want to crayon the book, they only wanted Maniac to read. And so he read
Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile
to Hester and Lester and, even though they pretended not to listen, to Amanda and Mr. and Mrs. Beale.
    And he was there when Hester and Lester were herded upstairs to bed, and Mrs. Beale said, “Don’t you think it’s about time you’re heading home, Jeffrey? Your parents’ll be wondering.”
    So Maniac, wanting to say something but not knowing how, got into the car for Mr. Beale to drive him home. And then he made his mistake. He waited for only two or three blocks to go by before saying to Mr. Beale, “This is it.”
    Mr. Beale stopped, but he didn’t let Maniac out of the car. He looked at him funny. Mr. Beale knew what his passenger apparently didn’t: East End was East End and West End was West End, and the house this white lad was pointing to was filled with black people, just like every other house on up to Hector Street.
    Mr. Beale pointed this out to Maniac. Maniac’s lip started to quiver, and right there, with the car idling in the middle of the street, Maniac told him that he didn’t really have a home, unless you counted the deer shed at the 200.
    Mr. Beale made a U-turn right there and headed back. Only Mrs. Beale was still downstairs when they walked into the house. She listened to no more than ten seconds’ worth of Mr. Beale’s explanation before saying to Maniac, “You’re staying here.”
    Not long after, Maniac was lying in Amanda’s bed, Amanda having been carried over to Hester and Lester’s room, where she often slept anyway.
    Before Maniac could go to sleep, however, there was something he had to do. He flipped off the covers and went downstairs. Before the puzzled faces of Mr. and Mrs. Beale, he opened the front door and looked at the three cast-iron digits nailed to the door frame: seven two eight. He kept staring at them, smiling. Then he closed the door, said a cheerful “Goodnight,” and went back to bed.
    Maniac Magee finally had an address.

13
    A manda was happy to give up her room to Maniac. It gave her an excuse to sleep with Hester and Lester every night. Most of the time during the day the little ones drove her crazy; she couldn’t stand to be in the same hemisphere with them. But at night, the best thing was to have them snuggled up on both sides of her. It made no sense, but that’s how it was.
    Mr. Beale divided the little ones’ room into two sections with a panel of plywood, and Amanda moved her stuff into the back part. Except for her suitcase of books — that stayed in her old room, with Maniac.
    The way Maniac fit in, you would have thought he was born there.
    He played with the little ones and read them stories and taught them things. He took Bow Wow out for runs and he did the dishes without anybody asking. (Which made Amanda feel guilty, so she started to dry.)
    He carried out the trash, mowed the grass, cleaned up his own spills, turned out lights, put the cap back on the toothpaste tube, flushed the toilet, and — Mrs. Beale called it “the miracle on Sycamore Street” — he kept his room neat.
    Every morning Mrs. Beale looked into it. No socks on the floor, no drawers open, no messed-up bed. That was the most amazing thing, the bed. It looked as if it hadn’t even been slept