Maizon at Blue Hill by Jacqueline Woodson Read Free Book Online Page B

“I guess this can wait until we come back....”
    Susan watched my hands as I worked and I wondered what she could be thinking. I had seen her in the cafeteria last night, but hadn’t paid much attention to her. She was shorter than I was, with a face that sort of pinched itself into a frown.
    â€œYou remind me of the lady who works for my family,” Susan said. “She has hair like yours—cut short. And she folds and hangs everything up carefully like you. Her last name is Peterson. You know her?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œI thought maybe you guys were related.” Susan leaned back on her elbows and eyed the room. “My room’s bigger than this.”
    â€œYeah, so’s Marie and Sheila’s down the hall. They say lower school freshmen get the short end of the stick around here.”
    â€œI thought they gave you a cheapie room ‘cause you’re on scholarship, since you’re not really contributing to the cost.”
    I shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I don’t need a lot of space.” I started counting to ten in my head, because Grandma had said I should do that before deciding I didn’t like a person. She said sometimes by the time you get to seven, you’re already liking the person more.
    â€œWhat does your father do?” Susan asked, too casually.
    â€œHe’s a lawyer.” I was up to eight now, and because she had made me lie, I was sure I didn’t like her. I wasn’t about to tell Susan the real story of my father..
    â€œCorporate or public interest?” Susan asked.
    â€œPublic interest,” I said quickly, trying not to stutter.
    â€œCriminal?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œIs he a criminal lawyer?”
    â€œUh-huh.” I nodded.
    â€œThat’s too bad. My dad’s a prosecutor. He tries to get as many criminals off the street as he can. He thinks criminal lawyers should be behind bars too.”
    â€œNot everybody’s guilty.”
    â€œYeah, yeah ... that’s what they all say.”
    â€œSometimes cops make mistakes.”
    â€œRarely.”
    I clinched my fist over a pair of lavender socks. What right did this girl have coming into my room and making me lie about my life, anyway?
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it,” I said, lowering my voice.
    â€œIt’s a losing argument.” Susan stood up and came over to the dresser. “Who’s this?” she asked, pointing to the picture Hattie took last summer. In it, me and Margaret were standing with our arms across each other’s shoulders.
    â€œThat’s my best friend, Margaret.”
    â€œShe’s pretty. I think some black people are real pretty, you know. Like, they have real clear skin and nice teeth. Where are her parents boarding her?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWhat school is she at?”
    â€œP.S. 102 ... in Brooklyn.”
    â€œPublic school?”
    I nodded. I had learned to fight when I was seven and Michael Acosta tried to bully me and Margaret into giving him our snack money. After I beat him up, I wasn’t scared of anyone anymore. Michael had been a whole head taller than me. It wouldn’t take much at all to pound Susan into the ground. I started counting again. Everyone deserved a second chance.
    â€œThat’s frightening. Don’t they kill people every day in those schools?”
    â€œYou must be reading the National Enquirer or something,” I said, letting a little of my annoyance seep into my . voice.
    â€œNo, my father told me that. He said New York schools are dangerous.”
    â€œGive me a break. Next time you talk to your father, ask him when was the last time he was in one.”
    â€œDon’t get snotty,” Susan said. “I was just repeating what I heard.”
    I shrugged. “Well, think before you say it. People will think you’re a parrot. Anyway, I’m ready for my tour,” I said, holding the door open.
    Susan