One in Every Crowd Read Online Free PDF

managed to grab a signpost with one hand and spun to a stop, and I safely bounced off the tired chainlink fence that sagged around the outside of the ball diamond. Christopher hesitated at the top of the hill. The afternoon sun burned like an egg yolk in the blue behind him, and the air rippled in blurry waves wherever the sky touched the pavement. The toes of his sneakers stuck way out over the front wheels of his skates, and his naked knees were glued together. It crossed my mind that maybe letting the younger kids learn how to roller skate in bare legs was not such a good idea, but it was too late. Chris careened towards us, his arms whirling in giant circles, backpedaling on his heels in a slow-motion slapstick of panic. He fell on his butt and skidded to a stop not even halfway down the hill. There was a breathless second of silence, and then his jaw dropped and an animal sound came out of his open mouth. I had never heard anyone screech like that, it was worse than when Danny burnt his leg on the exhaust pipe of his dad’s motorbike, even louder than the time I fell out of the tree and broke my wrist and got eleven stitches in my head. It was more of a siren than a scream, and he didn’t stop. My blood stood still in my veins for a moment, then I leapt forward, forgetting I had wheels attached to my feet. I broke my fall with the heels of both hands, tearing identical patches of roadrash into my palms. I ripped both of his roller skates off, and ran my stinging hands up and down his arms and legs, searching his body for blood or broken bones. I pulled him to his feet by one elbow and a belt loop, but he sunk back into a crouch when I let go of his arm, still wailing and spewing tears and snot. I couldn’t see anything wrong with him, he wasn’t bleeding or holding his ankle or wrist, but he was screaming like he was being skinned alive. When I knelt down beside him to wrap his arm around my shoulders, a foul smell filled my nostrils. He had crapped his pants, and the evidence had escaped his underwear and was smeared down the back of his right leg. I had to take him home, which meant I had to take everyone home, since it was 1981 and it wasn’t safe to leave little kids alone in a park in a big city, especially when there was a psycho on the loose and anything could happen. My sister wouldn’t touch Christopher because he had poo on him, so I made her carry the roller skates while Dan and I dragged him home in our sock feet. He was made of lead and rubber, and by the time we burst through the screen door on the back porch my knees were wobbling and my breath was burning in the back of my throat. “Gran,” I gasped, “Chris wiped out on the hill and I can’t see anything wrong with him but he pooped himself and won’t shut up or tell me where it is hurting.” Chris had stopped screeching, but his chest still heaved in great long sobs and his face was streaked with dirt and tears. He wiped his upper lip with a snotty wrist, and leaned against the laundry room door, which wasn’t closed all the way. It swung open with a squeak and Chris stumbled sideways and fell to one knee on the linoleum in front of the washing machine, leaving a brown streak of poop across the white ceramic door of Gran’s brand new clothes dryer. “You dirty little bird,” she squawked, hauling Chris back onto his feet by one wrist and dragging him toward the bathroom. “Knock it off with all this nonsense and get into the tub or I’ll give you something to cry about.” She launched him through the bathroom door with one swat across the sagging bum of his shorts. He let out a scream so loud that even Gran clapped her hands over her ears, and the dog bolted down the hall, skidded across the kitchen, and hurled herself under the table, knocking the butter dish to the floor. Not even my little sister could fake that kind of agony, and Gran lifted his limp body into the bathtub and pulled down his pants with a shaky hand. His bum was