When I Was the Greatest Read Online Free PDF Page B

much begging God to give your next kid something like that. At least that’s how I look at it, which is why I don’t laugh.
    â€œEasy, Noodles. No need to get upset.” Brother tried to calm Noodles down. Trini looked back down at his clippers. “Let me run to the back and see if I got anything.”
    The back was where Brother kept all his pet supplies. It was basically a closet full of cat, dog, hamster, and fish food, leashes, flea powders, and a few toys like bones and rubber fire hydrants that make squeaky noises. Brother was quite the businessman.
    â€œSorry, young brothers”—Brother came from the back—“I got nothing.”
    â€œIt’s cool, man,” I said, now speaking for Noodles, who was still cooling off. “Anybody know where we can get some?”
    â€œAtlantic and Court,” one older guy blurted out. “It’s called Knit Wit.” He paused and noticed all the other guys looking at him with a side eye. “Or something like that.”
    â€œAnd how exactly do you know this, Larry?” Brother was getting ready to go in on him.
    The older guy, Larry, started shifting positions in his seat like his butt was heating up. He looked like he wanted to run out of the shop when he said, “My wife, man. She makes me go sit in with her at these knitting classes.”
    The shop broke out in laughter again.
    â€œShe makes you go? Yeah, right! You love it!”
    â€œYou volunteer to go, don’t you?”
    â€œYou make her go sit in with you!”
    â€œI want a Kwanzaa sweater with a pair of clippers on it. Got me?”
    And on and on. Noodles and I left Larry to be eaten by the wolves and headed to Atlantic Ave. We figured we could just jump on whatever bus was coming and ride it down to Court Street. While walking toward the bus stop, Noodles had another bright idea.
    â€œAight, so how about when we get to the store, we just take some yarn, man. I mean, ain’t no point in buying something so stupid,” he said. I pretty much expected him to say this, but I knew it had nothing to do with yarn and was really all about him not having money to buy it. He would never just come out and say it.
    â€œYo, man, do you not know Doris? She would kill me!”
    The bus was coming. Noodles didn’t say nothing else about it, but I could tell it was still on his mind.
    On the way to Court Street, Noodles just looked out the window and chewed on his fingernails. He spit the nails on the bus floor. A boy toward the back of the bus had music playing from his phone. The girl next to me was arguing withsomeone on hers. A baby was screaming in the front of the bus. Everyone was fanning themselves and wiping sweat, frustrated, trapped on the bus from hell.
    Everyone except Noodles. He just sat there gazing out the window. He didn’t roll his eyes or make some smart remark in typical Noodles fashion. He just stared and bit his nails. It was like he was out in space somewhere. When the bus finally got to Court Street, and I stood up to get off, Noodles didn’t move. I had to call his name to snap him out of it.
    â€œMan, I was gone. My bad,” he said, his raspy voice even raspier, like he had just woke up. “We here?”
    â€œYeah, we here.”
    Noodles drifted off all the time. He never said what he was thinking about, and I never asked him because part of me was scared of what he’d say. He’s the type of dude who could be daydreaming about anything, from doing something crazy like sticking up a place, or something cool, like making sure his brother’s taken care of. Or, like in this case, both.
    Court Street was like a whole other world than what we were used to. I had been there once or twice with my mom but never on my own. It’s interesting how when you live in Brooklyn, you typically just stay in your own hood, unless you’re going into Manhattan. But I know a lot of Brooklyn dudes my age who