Mockingbird by Kathryn Erskine Read Free Book Online

Dad doesn’t want me to go in but I don’t know why. Even though the door doesn’t have my name on it I want to be with Devon. I need to be with Devon. And I know Devon would open his door for me.
    I put my hand on the doorknob. It’s cool and strong. I hold it awhile like I’m holding Devon’s hand. Like I did when I followed him into his room and he let me draw while he did his homework as long as I didn’t talk or hum or make weird mouth noises. I close my eyes and promise the door that I will not talk or hum or make weird mouth noises and I turn the knob. After a cracking sound the door opens.
    When I push my head into the soft blue blur of his room I can smell him and feel him and I smile. It’s like pure Devon in here. I go all the way in and quietly shut the door behind me.
    There is the beanbag chair where Devon always sits. And the books on the floor that Dad threw there. And the bed which is never made because Devon hates making his bed. And the shelf with his trophies. Baseball. Basketball. Boy Scouts.
    I look around the walls that are full of my pictures. He still has stuff taped up that I did in preschool. I don’t know why. They’re really bad. I can do so much better now. The bird I drew when I was four hardly even looks like a bird. Now I can draw a bird that looks real. Last year Dad entered the eagle I drew in a grown-up art show and it won first prize. Dad and Devon were so happy I was sure they got confused and thought they’d drawn the bird themselves. But they didn’t because Devon said, You may be the best artist in Virginia, and Dad said so too.
    Devon even said that by the time I’m an adult I might be the best artist in the country! I remember where he was sitting when he said it. Right there. In the blue beanbag chair with the plastic cover that feels weird and makes fart noises when you slide into it. It’s Devon’s favorite place to sit. Not mine.
    I turn around and I see it. My hidey-hole. The best place in the world. If there’s a thunderstorm or fireworks or a lot of sirens Devon lets me sit in the hidey-hole in the corner between the foot of his bed and his dresser. He even used his Boy Scout knife to carve my name underneath his dresser where Dad can’t see it and get mad because you’re not supposed to use stickers on the furniture and Devon says it’s a pretty safe bet that the No Stickers On The Furniture rule applies to knives also.
    I decide to get in my hidey-hole and slide all the way underneath the dresser and look up at my name and feel it. It’s not my real name. It’s Devon’s name for me which is Scout. It’s from To Kill a Mockingbird because he loves that movie. It has two kids in it: Jem and Scout. They are a brother and a sister and there is a father too and a lady I used to think was the mother who is always in the kitchen except when she leaves every night to go take care of her other children. I thought maybe that’s where my mother went. To take care of her other children. And she had trouble with directions like me and couldn’t find the way back here again. I asked Devon about it and he said that was crazy and I shouldn’t blame Mom for having cancer and dying. She didn’t want to die. I said Scout and Jem should be nicer to their mom because she is probably dying of cancer and one day will not be able to come back and fix them breakfast. He said, She’s a maid! but she still seems like a mom to me.
    The dad has funny glasses and is always dressed up and doesn’t get mad even when people spit in his face. I wish Dad wouldn’t shout when I throw things at him. And he shot a dog. Jem and Scout’s dad I mean. But Devon said it was a sick dog who would attack them and make them all die. I guess sometimes it’s good to shoot things. But not Devon. Devon was not going to attack anyone or make them die.
    Devon is like Jem. A lot like Jem. He even looks like Jem. Except Devon’s nose got broken playing baseball. And I don’t know what color