Criss Cross by Lynne Rae Perkins Read Free Book Online

got engaged or something.”
    “Same thing, then,” said Meadow. “Sort of.”
    Hector thought it was going really well, but he didn’t know what else to say. So after hesitating for a moment, he said, “See you next week, then,” and turned away. He felt the milk of human kindness go coursing all through him. He felt warmth for all mankind.
    He turned toward Russell Kebbesward, who stood next to a folding chair where his loaded guitar case was precariously balanced. Both plump hands were in his pockets with the thumbs hooked outside. His brown, soulful eyes were focused on something that wasn’t there, a spot moving in midair. They always looked that way.
    “How’s it going, Russell?” said Hector.
    “Well,” said Russell, turning slightly in Hector’s direction. “It’s going well. Thank you.”
    It seemed as if Russell might be gathering his thoughts to go on and Hector, feeling so warm and milky and kind, waited.
    He set his guitar case back on the floor.
    He began to suspect, though, that Russell’s thoughts were not gathering at all, that if they even existed, they were wandering through his head like lurching strangers on a moving train. If any two of them met up, it would be purely accidental.
    He glanced over his shoulder and saw the rest of the class heading for the exit. Mr. Schimpf was chatting with Mary, Dan Persik was walking out with Meadow and Robin. His head was bent toward them in that big-tall-handsome-football-player-talking-to-pretty-girl way. Their faces were tilted back up at him, but Hector couldn’t see them. He could only see their hair, part of their ears, and a sliver of their cheeks. It was possible that they were just listening out of politeness, not enjoyment. It was possible.
    He watched as they squeezed through the double doors all at once, in a tight little group with their guitar cases, making a joke of it. Their laughter bounced around the hollow stairwell, multiplying by echoes and spilling back into the room until the doors fell shut. A couple of seconds later three pairs of legs scissored past outside the window above the piano, accompanied by the scraping of feet and a murmur of muffled voices that came, then went.
    Hector turned back to Russell. Pastor Don came over, too, making them another threesome.
    “We had some fine voices here tonight,” he said. “Yours among them.”
    “Thank you,” said Russell.
    Again, he looked as if he might say more. Again, he didn’t.
    To keep things moving, Hector said, “I liked that song you played at the beginning. Is that pretty hard to play?”
    But he only half-listened to Pastor Don’s response, which was lengthy and enthusiastic. He was probably a nice guy, an interesting guy. He was probably saying something interesting. But an important part of Hector was no longer in the building. What am I doing here? he thought. What do these people have to do with me? Looking from one to the other.
    “Well, I’ve got to go, then,” he said. “See you next week.” This, for the second time that evening. As he headed through the double doors, up through the echoing stairwell and outside, he remembered saying it the first time, when he said it to Meadow. What a funny name, he thought. But a pretty name. Beautiful, really. All sunny and “bright golden haze” and all that. It seemed like she ought to have golden hair with that name, but she seemed sunny, anyway.
    Hector thought up some similar, corresponding names for himself. Tree. Bark. Fjord. Cliff. Rock. Bam-Bam. Maybe not Bam-Bam. That would be more like Dan Persik. How about Storm? he thought as a sudden powerful gust of sharp air propelled him across the street. How about Rain? Wind? Sprinkle? Monsoon? Wet Pedestrian with Cardboard Guitar Case. Dash. Flash. Trip. Slip. Sprawl. Rip?
    He managed, though, to hold the guitar case aloft, like a trophy.

CHAPTER 10

Conversation in the Dark:

Brilliant Eskimo Thoughts
     
P: Do you think things are meant to be?
D: What do you