Is Anybody There? by Eve Bunting Read Free Book Online

Trotter.”
    “Right. I remember.” And then Mom was saying, “Nice to meet you again Mrs. Trotter, Mr. Trotter. Hello, Anjelica.”
    She and Angelica’s parents were smiling at each other. I was staring at Anjelica. She was staring at her feet.
    Mr. and Mrs. Trotter were having a whispered conversation, and then they left their place in the line, let the people between us go ahead of them, and stepped back so they were next to us. Anjelica trailed behind.
    “You know my son, Marcus?” Mom asked, and Anjelica’s parents said, “Yes, yes,” and then her father said, “You are the young man who had the excellent stamp collection in the open house way back in fifth grade.”
    I was mumbling yes and making myself concentrate on him and not Anjelica, and Mom was beaming and saying, “How nice of you to remember.” I was looking so intently at Anjelica’s father that I could probably have gone home and drawn such a good picture of him that anybody would instantly pick him out of a police lineup, not that he’s ever likely to bein one. Small, a little chubby, glasses. And her mother. Brownish hair, small. Very serious-looking but nice, homey. My eyes kept popping toward Anjelica.
    Anjelica’s face was bare, the way it used to be. She had only one set of eyebrows. Her lips were pale pink instead of red and green, her hair was pretty and soft, and under her yellow sweater her top was totally flat. Not totally flat. Not like mine. But it was normal-looking. I couldn’t get over it. Anjelica looked the way she’d looked in sixth grade. Anjelica was absolutely gorgeous.
    “I expect you and Anjelica know each other quite well.” Her mother smiled across at me.
    “Oh, ah, yes.” I was overcome. Overcome by Anjelica.
    Mom was talking now about Christmas and how busy she was at work, while Anjelica and I both gazed into space. I was wondering if she could have a twin sister. Like the good and the bad, or the shy and the pushy. But Mrs. Trotter had called her Anjelica. You wouldn’t call twin sisters the same name!
    This silence between us was getting embarrassing.
    “Uh, how’s it going, Anjelica?” I had to push the words out.
    “All right.” Her eyelashes were soft and stubby like the bristles on a horsehair paintbrush.
    The line started to move, and we shuffled with it.
    “It was nice of you to bring over my book that day,” I said desperately. “I really appreciated it.”
    “That’s OK. I go by your house all the time.” She stopped and gave a little gulp.
    “You go by
my
house? What for?”
    “I mean … not often. I mean, not really.” Anjelica looked as if she might cry.
    “Next please,” the Rabbit Hutch hostess called. “I can take seven.” She began counting and touching shoulders, and the Trotters trotted off, wishing us a Merry Christmas and saying how nice it had been to see us again. Anjelica gave me a last mournful glance.
    “Anjelica seems like a nice girl,” Mom said when they’d gone. “She’s quite shy, isn’t she?”
    Criminy! Mom ought to hear her in school and see her too. Talk about a switcheroo. Fortunately I didn’t have to give my opinion, becausethe hostess appeared again and pointed us to a seat by the window. I guess at this time of year the hostess doesn’t bother to escort you.
    Mom and I ordered steaks and french fries, despite Miss Sarah’s turkey salad recommendation. We didn’t talk about Nick at all. I admit I stretched my neck hoping for another glimpse of Anjelica, but she’d vanished into a dark corner of the Rabbit Hutch. I couldn’t even see her when Mom and I were on the way out.
    We stopped at Grandma’s Bake Shop to get oatmeal muffins to eat in the car. In a basket on the counter were cookies, big as dinner plates, wrapped in plastic and tied with red ribbon.
    “Oh, look! Butterscotch. Nick’s favorite,” Mom said, then bit her lip and glanced down at me.
    “It’s OK, Mom. You don’t have to never mention his name, just because I don’t