Red Hart Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Kids always get shoved around, until they're big enough to do something about it. No use trying before then.”
    “What do you plan to do?” Nan inquired. She did not want to think ahead to a long time of being shoved around until she was old enough to take measures to make her own life. She did not even know now what kind of a life she really wanted.
    Chris stared down at the table top. “It doesn't matter— not now.”
    It was as if he had pulled down a heavy curtain between them. Nan went on spooning up her sundae. Chris had never really talked with her before, but their exchange had not lasted long. He must hate living with Aunt Elizabeth just as much as she did. Nan wondered how he had lived before. Did he have someone like Grandma, too? She longed to ask, but she did not quite dare.
    “There you are!” Aunt Elizabeth swooped down upon them. “That was great luck, Nan. Mrs. Ames is driving Martha to school tomorrow and will stop by for you. I really didn't want you to go off alone the first day. It will be such a change from Elmsport to the Wickcoff Grammar School. It's all arranged; they will be by for you at eight fifteen. Chris can ride along, too. They'll drop him off at the Academy as they have to pass right by there on the way.”
    Aunt Elizabeth had a cup of coffee, which she now sipped. She made a face. “Bitter—” She pushed the cup toward thecenter of the table. “No one in these places seems able to produce a drinkable cup of coffee.” If she caught the look of dismay on Nan's face, the deepening of the sullen droop of Chris's mouth, she refused to accept either as criticism of her own plans for their welfare.
    It was not until after supper that Chris was able to get to his room by himself. He hesitated by the closet door. Get the inn out now? That was what he wanted. Yet the feeling that it was his alone, that he did not want anyone else to know about it, kept him from reaching for the suitcase. At last he sat down on the side of his bed. Aunt Elizabeth, that girl—they had to go to bed sometime. Then he could use his flashlight, get a good look at what he had bought. He squirmed unhappily, impatient to get at his find.
    Mostly he did not want to think about the Academy tomorrow. Just because Dad had gone there, he was now supposed to enjoy it, according to Dad and Aunt Elizabeth. But the truth was that he hated the place.
    Chris took off his glasses and rubbed his hand across his eyes. Could he help it that he was so nearsighted he was not good at sports? Twice he had broken his glasses back at Brixton trying to play basketball. He could never see why chasing around a ball, any kind or shape of a ball, was so important.
    And if a guy liked to read or knew what the teacher was talking about, then he was a soppy square or something. Chris rubbed his forehead again. Al Canfield had threatened to give him the “business” if he outsmarted Greg Fellows inclass once more. Simply because Greg was team captain, and Chris had refused to write his themes for him.
    Chris's round face took on a stubborn cast. He was not going to be their tame theme-paper writer, doing just what they said, as Perry Winn did in Chemistry. He supposed they would get him for it tomorrow when he did not produce the book review for Greg to copy.
    Kids were like the animals at the old zoo. They were all in cages. Maybe you couldn't see the cages really, but they were there. He had always thought that when he was older Dad would see that he didn't have to be caged up. Chris pounded one fist on the bed.
    “Chris?” Aunt Elizabeth's voice was right outside the door.
    He got up quickly and went to answer.
    “There is the special on TV—the one about Africa.”
    Chris opened the door. “I've got my book review to write,” he said shortly.
    “Why do you leave your homework until the last minute?” Aunt Elizabeth asked. “Well, I suppose I should be glad you do, do it. Margery says she has to keep after Tim every minute to