Francie by Karen English Read Free Book Online

said, relaying Miss Beach’s instructions.
    Mama sighed. “If I don’t know that by now, I must be a dimwit.”
    I smiled and then remembered the nickel I had in my pocket. I could taste the Scooter Pie I was going to buy with it as soon as I could get over to Green’s. I just needed to get to my hill in time to see the local race by on its way up to Birmingham to make its connection to the Illinois Central. I loved watching that train. I was gonna be taking that route one day, on my way to Chicago. Daddy had promised.
    Things went off without a hitch. Mama and I wrung and wrung the sheets, we hung the wash, and Miss Beach stayed out of our way. That horrid cat kept out of our way, too. Mama finally said I could go.
    â€œYou be home by the time I get there, missy,” Mama said.
    I quickly calculated that I’d have less time than I was counting on, but I was in such a good mood that it gave me only a pinprick of disappointment. I could make that up if I ran all the way to Green’s.
    I stopped at our house. Prez was gone down to Perry’s. Good, I thought. He won’t be pestering me to let him come along. I quickly went to get the Nancy Drew I was in the middle of reading.

    I kept all my books on a little shelf above me and Mama’s bed. She kept her earrings up there in a little box. I had to keep my books away from Prez. He liked to thumb through the pages and pick out the words he knew, his dirty hands smudging my pages. Miss Lafayette had given me a beautiful feather, dyed shocking pink, from an old hat, to use as a bookmark. I loved it. I always left it on my shelf to keep from losing it when I took a book out of the house.
    â€œPage 58,” I said to myself as I slipped the feather from between the pages and placed it carefully on the shelf.
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    Green’s was nearly empty. Good, I thought. I wouldn’t have to wait while white folks were helped before me.
    â€œHey, Francie,” Vell said, coming out from the back and heading for the porch with a broom. He was Mr. Green’s retarded nephew.
    â€œHey, Vell.” I went directly to the counter where Scooter Pies were kept in their own display box. The box was empty. There was the jar of penny candy but no Scooter Pies. I checked every inch of the counter. The big jar of pickles—the jar of pickled eggs—no Scooter Pies. Naw, I thought. Couldn’t be. Mr. Green sat behind the register, reading his paper and smoking his Old Gold. He flicked an ash into a jar lid.
    â€œMr. Green,” I said politely. He looked up. “Don’t you have any Scooter Pies?”

    â€œYou see any Scooter Pies, Francie?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    He went back to his paper. “Then I don’t have any. We’re out.”
    I searched the counter again. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him—I just had to be sure. Fingering my smooth nickel in my pocket, I walked to the porch and looked up the road toward town. I hadn’t gotten permission to go there, though.
    I knew Diller’s Drugs would have Scooter Pies. A stack of them by the register. Sitting on my hill waiting on the local wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t have one to nibble on.
    I skipped down the porch steps and headed for town. I tucked my book under my arm and put a little bounce in my step, determined to stay happy.
    Diller’s was empty enough, so I decided to look around a couple of minutes before I got my Scooter Pie. Mr. Diller was putting new magazines in the rack and taking out the old ones.
    Eugene and Jimmy Early were sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading Buck Rogers comics.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, trying to get around them, and when they ignored me and I had to squeeze past, one laughed. Then I felt something hit my back. It was a piece of wadded paper. I looked back at the boys. They held their comic books an inch from their noses, pretending innocence.

    I went on my way, turning down the