The Paper Cowboy Read Online Free PDF

twice and I was ready to slug anyone who mentioned her again. I practically ran to the chapel. As I slid into a pew, I could feel the weight of home falling off my shoulders, like a horse shrugging off a saddlebag.
    At St. Joseph’s Catholic School we had Mass every morning. That meant thirty-five minutes of peace and quiet—well, except for the standing up and kneeling, and chanting in Latin, but I could do all that in my sleep. And even if I forgot some of the words, I’d just get a real pious look on my face, lower my voice and say,
“A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty ‘Hi-Yo, Silver!’”
    I loved school. Oh, the nuns liked to pretend they were mean, but the worst they’d do was get out the ruler and rap you on the knuckles. Not that anyone misbehaved. No, sir. St. Joe’s was run like Ike’s army, which was okay by me. I liked knowing what was going to happen. At home, if I accidentally dropped a plate, sometimes Mom would laugh and call me slippery fingers and help me clean it up, and sometimes she’d yell for an hour and send me to bed without dinner.
    After Mass we’d say a prayer for anyone who was sick or had died or anything like that. First on our prayer list was always Cardinal József Mindszenty. He was the leader of the Catholic Church in Hungary and had spoken out against the communists who had taken over Hungary after the war. He was arrested, tortured and, at a sham trial in 1949, sentenced to life in prison. So every day we bowed our heads and prayed for his release.
    I should have known what was coming next, should have expected it when Sister Ann stood up and said she had a special announcement. Like all the other nuns, Sister Ann wore a habit complete with a black-and-white wimple. She was tall and thin, except for her nose, which looked a little bit like a pickle. “Yesterday, one of our very own students, Mary Lou Wilson, was burned in a terrible accident.”
    There was a gasp from one of the eighth-grade girls. She must have been the only one who hadn’t already heard. I longed for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
    â€œPlease keep Mary Lou and her family in your prayers,” said Sister Ann, “especially her brother, Tommy.”
    Everyone turned to look at me.
    I slouched down lower in the pew. All I wanted was not to have to think about it for a little while. Did that make me a horrible brother? Yeah, it probably did.
    I’d never been so glad to file into our classroom and start working on spelling. Lizzie Johnson was selected to hand out the composition notebooks. I groaned. Oh, she was cute enough, with curls like Little Orphan Annie in the comics and enough freckles to make it look like someone had sprinkled pepper on her face. But she always batted her eyelashes at me and spoke in this high-pitched baby voice. It was really annoying.
    According to Mary Lou, I was handsome. With dark brown hair, always kept neat and trimmed, and deep brown eyes, as rich and gooey as a chocolate-covered raisin. (Her words, not mine. Who wants gooey eyes?) But I liked being good-looking. I mean, who wouldn’t? When I smiled, even the nuns would soften and give me the benefit of the doubt when I was being naughty.
Tommy didn’t really mean to knock over the trash can. Tommy didn’t really mean to bump into you.
Even if I really did.
    But sometimes, at night, I’d lie in bed and wonder, what if I hadn’t been born good-looking? What if I was like Eddie, with blond hair that jutted off at odd angles and blue eyes that weren’t quite the same size? When we got into scrapes together, often he’d get in trouble instead of me. I asked him about it once. “Aw, Tommy, you’re just a smooth talker,” he said, but I wasn’t sure that was the real reason.
    â€œHi, Tommy,” cooed Lizzie when she reached my desk, just like I knew she would.
    â€œHello, Lizzie,”