One Crazy Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

walking, Fern sticking close to me. Vonetta skipped until she caught up.
    One thing was for sure. These blocks might have been long like the blocks on Herkimer Street, but we were far from Brooklyn. I didn’t know where any of these streets led, but I walked down Magnolia like I knew where I was going.
    I couldn’t help but notice that not one yard had a palm tree. Not one. Or stucco. Not one house was painted that crazy green color. I was thinking this when behind us crept a rumbling against concrete, like a barrel rolling, the rolling broken by the cracks in the sidewalk. I turned.
    A voice yelled, “Gangway!”
    We tried to jump aside, but the three of us jumping all together only got us so far.
    A boy on top of a wooden board—this flying T with tricycle wheels in the back—rumbled by and managed to clip me good.
    “ Hey! Watch out!” I called after him, shaking my fist.
    He only stopped at the corner to pick up his flying T, carry it across the street, and lay it back down on the sidewalk. “Sorry!” he yelled without turning around. Then he gave it a running push and jumped on it, eventually lying stomach down, his arms outstretched as he held on to both ends of the T.
    “What was that?” Vonetta asked.
    “Some stupid boy,” I said. “Come on, y’all.”
    I had to pull Vonetta’s chin away from the direction of the boy on the flying T. She kept looking even after he was long gone.
    Ming’s was where Cecile said it was. Around the corner and a couple blocks down. There was a big sign, MING’S , and underneath it, red neon characters that looked like fighting men waving swords. The telephone booth was also where Cecile said it would be, right next to Ming’s. I planned on calling Pa before getting the food, but the booth was already occupied by a light-skinned guy with a big, floppy Afro. He was turned sideways, but I could see his profile, his beakish nose. The way he pushed his head this way and that, suspiciously, while he talked.
    We stood with our arms folded, waiting for him to finish. He looked like a fugitive from justice. I could spot one when I saw one. I love a good crime story, especially The F.B.I. Crime shows come on late, and I sneak to catch whatever Big Ma falls asleep watching. That’s how this guy looked. Like he was calling his ma to see if the coast was clear to come home without the mob or the coppers on his tail.
    He saw us standing with our arms folded and turned his back to us. I got it. He had a lot of dimes and planned to use each one.
    We went inside Ming’s. We were barely in the restaurant, which wasn’t a restaurant, just a counter with a kitchen on the far side and two small tables with benches on our side. The Chinese lady behind the counter said, “No free egg rolls. No more free egg rolls.” She waved her hands like “Shoo, stray cat.”
    I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t ask for any free egg rolls. But we were the only ones inside Ming’s, and she was staring straight at me.
    Vonetta said, “We don’t want free egg rolls.”
    Fern piped in, “We want shrimp lo mein and Pepsi.”
    Vonetta said, “And four plates, four forks, four napkins, and four cups.”
    Fern: “And four egg rolls.”
    Vonetta: “All for money. Not for free.”
    Finally I said, “It’s takeout. To go.”
    I uncurled the ten-dollar bill to show her. Usually I am Johnny-on-the-spot, speaking up for my sisters and me. But this time I went blank for no reason I could think of. It was nice to have Vonetta and Fern jump right in.
    The lady shouted in Chinese to the back of the kitchen. She sounded even meaner than when she’d said “No free egg rolls.” I decided that just like Cecile was crazy, the Chinese lady was mean. Mean Lady Ming.
    She nodded to us and said, “Okay. Sit.”
    We sat down and waited. Mean Lady Ming kept talking. “Everybody poor. Everybody hungry. I give free egg roll. Feel sorry. Then everyone come for free egg roll.”
    She muttered on like Cecile did and