Pieces of Why Read Online Free PDF Page B

even out. “I’ve got auctioning to do online.”
    I looked at her as she stooped to pick up a giant stuffed dog from the kitchen floor. “Ms. Evette will be at June Fest,” I said. “She works a side job too.”
    I couldn’t believe I’d said that, but Ma pretended she didn’t hear. “I’ve got to get this boxed and into the mail,” she said, shuffling toward her bedroom, where she kept the postal scale.
    I opened my mouth, then closed it again, scraping my fork against my plate. It made a sound like nails on a chalkboard, which I knew drove Ma crazy. So I did it again. Finally, Ma snapped.
    â€œFine. Go to Keisha’s then. Lock the door when you leave. Don’t talk to strangers, and call me if you have any problems.”
    Same thing she said every day.
    â€œFine,” I echoed, getting up to leave. “I’ll stay out of trouble.”
    But even as I said those words, I knew they were a lie. Trouble was like a hurricane. If you were in its path, it would barrel down on top of you, no matter how hard you tried to shore things up.

CHAPTER 8
    I BOLTED OUT the door, taking off toward Keisha’s apartment. Usually I sang while I walked, marking time with my feet, but that day I couldn’t sing a note. My whole body felt hot and tense, coiled like a rusty spring. When you sing, your body has to open up: lungs, diaphragm, throat, shoulders. Even parts that don’t seem involved with making music need to let loose, like when you lift your chin and straighten your back.
    Imagine the to
p of your head lifti
ng off, letting your
spirit free, and th
en the music overflo
ws.
    I could hear Ms. Marion’s voice, but I couldn’t unclench my muscles. By the time I got to Keisha’s, I still hadn’t found that place in me where my singing should have been.
    I took the outside emergency staircase one flight up to Keisha’s floor. The metal frame was already hot from the sun, so I puffed on my fingers after I pried the window open. Keisha must have heard me coming, because she appeared and reached out to pull me inside.
    â€œYou’re here early,” she said. She was still in her pajamas, her braids loose and disheveled, looking crazy with flyaway curls. She chewed on her lower lip, and there was something odd about the way she looked at me, as if she wished I’d arrived later. Or maybe hadn’t come at all? But that was silly. I practically lived at Keisha’s house.
    I waited for her to start our secret handshake.
    â€œWell?” I said at last.
    â€œOh.” Keisha let out her breath in a nervous whoosh and held out her hands.
    Shimmer,
shimmer,
    superstars,
    Keisha and Tia,
    we’
ll go far.
    We smacked our hands together, up and down, side, side, then once in the middle. It barely rhymed, but we’d only been in second grade when we’d made it up.
    â€œTia? That you?” Ms. Evette called.
    â€œYes ma’am. Ma says hey,” I lied.
    Ms. Evette sashayed into the doorway. “You feeling better today? How’s that cut?”
    â€œIt’s healing,” I said, flopping down on Keisha’s purple comforter.
    Ms. Evette glanced at Keisha, then cocked her head to one side. “Did you see the paper this morning?” she asked me.
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd did you talk to your mother about what happened?”
    I hesitated only a moment before nodding again. Technically, it wasn’t a lie.
    â€œThere’s going to be a vigil for the baby at June Fest tonight,” Ms. Evette said. “I spoke to Marion this morning and she’d like the choir to perform the song you’ve been practicing, if you feel up to singing the lead. Is your ma coming out?”
    I shook my head, but I noticed the way Ms. Evette hadn’t really waited for an answer. In fact, she almost seemed relieved, which was strange because normally she got exasperated real quick when it came to Ma not showing up for