Francie by Karen English Read Free Book Online Page B

to the carousel, counted the copies of Nancy Drew, and glanced back at me like I was cow manure.
    â€œI just ten minutes ago put five new copies on that
carousel. I had five already, and that makes ten! Guess how many I got now?”
    I said nothing, because in the middle of his counting—and he made quite a show of it—I knew there’d be one missing. He’d be short one, because Holly took it.
    â€œCat got your tongue?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œYou want to guess, then?”
    â€œNo, sir.” I looked directly at Holly. She gazed back at me level and confident.
    â€œI got nine,” he said, coming down hard on nine . He glanced around at the onlookers—from one to the other. “I got nine. ” He seemed to be speaking only to them, like he was expecting them to bear witness.
    I turned to Eugene. “You saw me take a book off that carousel?”
    â€œI sure did,” he said quickly.
    â€œDid you see me with your own eyes?”
    He seemed not to know how to answer that. Then: “Yea, I did.”
    â€œWhat I do with it?”
    â€œPut it under your arm.”
    â€œI didn’t open it and read it?”
    â€œNo, you just hid it under your arm and went right up to the register,” he said.
    â€œOkay.” I turned back to Mr. Diller. “If you open up that book to page 58 you’ll probably see a bit of pink
feather in the binding. I use a feather as a bookmark, but I left it at home cause I didn’t want to lose it.”
    He studied my face, then the book in his hand. He flipped to page 58. The bit of pink feather stood out on the page for everyone to see. Mr. Diller blew on it and it floated to the floor.
    â€œWhere’s that missing book, then?” Eugene said.
    I answered, just as calm as you please—though I don’t know what could have prompted me to say such a thing—“Whyn’t you all ask Holly. I seen her steal lipstick right off that display not too long ago.” I pointed to the cosmetics aisle. “Maybe if you searched her purse …” I could hardly get the words out, she came at me so fast, jaws clenched.
    â€œHow dare you, you little pickaninny,” she sputtered, enraged. Her slap sent my head spinning. She went to hit me again, and I ducked in time, so that her hand glanced off the back of my head, the palm side of her fingers connecting in a way that was probably more painful for her than me. Still, I actually saw little exploding lights in front of my open eyes. The place on my cheek where her hand had made contact had a fierce ringing sting. If I hadn’t been dark, I figured I’d be wearing her palm print for days. “You want to stand there, you little black pickaninny, and call me a thief?”
    Her face was as red as mine would have been if it could show. She reared back to strike me again, but Mr. Diller caught her hand.

    â€œThat ain’t necessary, Holly.” Joe Diller, who’d been in the back room, came out now to stop the ruckus. “Let me take care of this.” He turned to me. “You get on out of here, and don’t let me see you set foot in Diller’s Drugs again.”
    I looked at my book in Mr. Diller’s hand. My eyes started to fill with tears, but I willed them away. That man knew in his heart that the book belonged to me. But he was gonna stand there and act like I’d done something wrong, just to save face. I didn’t understand white folks sometimes. I’d be too scared to be so mean.
    I stepped out into the bright sunshine, which now seemed to mock my earlier good feeling. I was innocent, but the world had decided to make me guilty. Why did I feel so guilty? I walked toward my hill.
    Â 
    The ground trembled beneath me. I could hear the distant rumble of the train. I gazed in its direction as it came at me. I stood and waved at it. I was going to be on that train one day. I was going to get out of Alabama, God