Friends of a Feather by Lauren Myracle Read Free Book Online Page A

Mom and Eloise, because Mr. Marconi reminded me about bingo, and if there’s a bingo game going on, I want to know. Mr. Marconi might not like bingo, but for me, bingo is the one fun thing at the nursing home. I get to play for the people who can’t play on their own, and I get to use a big fat bingo marker to make blue dots on B-11 or G-58 or whatever. When the prize cart comes around, I get to help whoever I’m with decide between a piece of costume jewelry or a banana.
    As I’m walking back to Eloise’s room, I see a lady come out of another room.
    â€œBye for now, Mom,” the lady says. She sniffles and dabs a Kleenex to the corner of her eye. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. By then, I bet the nurses will have you completely settled in.”
    Whoever’s in the room must be new, that’s my guess. And her daughter—because that’s who the lady must be—is worried about her because it’s her first day here.
    I cross the hall, thinking I’ll tell the lady about bingo and crafts and all the other stuff they do here. It’s actually not
that
bad. I just don’t want to live here myself.
    But she hurries off before I reach her. And then—
uh-oh
.
    Mr. Marconi. He spots her, and his wrinkled hand goes to his joystick. With a zoom and a fast stop, he plants himself in front of her.
    â€œHey, you,” I hear him say. He beckons her closer and speaks to her in his raspy voice.
    The lady tucks away her Kleenex and says, “Of course, of course.” She walks in her high heels toward the emergency exit.
    I chase after her. “Um . . . ma’am? Lady?” I don’t know what to call her!
    Anyway, it’s too late. She pushes the “emergency only” bar, and there’s a buzz, and the metal door that says “emergencies only” swings open! And this
is
an emergency, but only because the lady turned it into one! She didn’t know, but still!
    â€œMr. Marconi, wait!” I cry. “You can’t go out there!”
    He hunches his shoulders and jams his joystick forward. I break into a run.
    â€œStop him! He’s not allowed!” I call.
    Mr. Marconi is five feet away from the door. The lady who opened it for him looks confused.
    He’s four feet away. A nurse pops into the hall and calls to Mr. Marconi in a panicked voice.
    He’s three feet away, and
there is traffic outside
, and
a real live road with sidewalks and yellow lines and cars
.
    The lady draws her hand to her mouth.
    He’s two feet away. One foot away.
He’s going out the door
.
    The nurse’s hands flutter in the air. “Mr. Marconi! Mr. Marconi!”
    She reaches the exit, but the doorway is too narrow to fit both a nurse and a man in a wheelchair.
    The traffic-y road is
right there
, just outside the door.
    I high-jump over Mr. Marconi’s wheelchair. It takes the highest jump ever to get over the armrest
and
his knees
and
his feet, and I stumble when I land.
    â€œOut of the way!” Mr. Marconi yells. “Out of the way, out of the way!”
    Owwee
, I think. But I turn toward him and brace myself. I do
not
get out of the way.
    Bam!
goes his wheelchair, ramming into my shins.
    He backs up and does it again.
Bam!
It HURTS, and I know I’m going to have bruises.
    Inside the building, people speak loudly and do frantic things with their hands. I spot Mom, who says, “Ty?”
    Mr. Marconi rams me again.
Ow!
    I grab the armrests of his wheelchair. “Mr. Marconi,
no
.”
    We fight for the joystick. He has crazy-eyebrow power, but I’m stronger.
    The wheelchair stops.
    I win.
    Straining, I push him back into the building. The nurses flood around us, and Mom, and the lady. Everyone fusses over Mr. Marconi, but they also say, “Thank you, little boy,” and “Ty! What in the world?!” and “If you hadn’t been here, just think what could have happened!”
    I put my hands on my