Night Swimmers by Betsy Byars Read Free Book Online
Authors: Betsy Byars
breath.
“Why did you do that?” Retta asked.
“Yeah, Johnny,” Roy gasped, “we could have been arrested.”
Johnny looked up at them. Water ran down his forehead from his dripping hair. He wrapped his clothes tighter and put them under his arm like a football.
“Now who’s chicken?” he said.
R OY WAS CONNECTING DOTS in a puzzle book he had given Johnny for his birthday.
“You’re going to ruin Johnny’s book,” Retta said. She was sitting on the sofa watching him critically.
“I am not.”
He connected the next two dots with special care and drew back to view his work. He nodded his approval.
“You don’t know your numbers,” Retta went on. “How can you connect numbered dots when you don’t know your numbers?”
“This happens to be a picture of a pony and I do know ponies. I rode on one one time.”
He bent over the book again. He loved to connect dots. He considered becoming a dot connector when he grew up. He liked the thought of himself at a desk, connecting dots while his secretary sharpened pencils.
“That’s no pony,” Retta said in a disgusted voice.
Roy jerked the book up and hid the half-finished picture against his chest. “It is too.”
“It’s a zebra. You’re supposed to be going up and down making stripes instead of plodding on around!”
Retta got up and went to the kitchen. When she was gone, Roy lowered his book and looked critically at his picture.
“I was going to make the stripes,” he explained to the empty doorway, “only I was doing the outside dots first, so there!”
Retta did not answer.
“You think you know everything.”
He connected two dots, one at the top of the zebra, one at the bottom. He regarded his work with pleasure.
“Well, you don’t!”
He heard the sound of water in the kitchen. He began nodding his head for emphasis. “You don’t even know who was spying on us night before last.”
The water stopped running. There was a silence in the kitchen and in the living room.
Roy realized what he had said. His fingers, fat as sausages, flattened his mouth. His eyes rolled to Retta as she appeared in the doorway.
“What did you say?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nothing.”
Retta crossed the room as quickly as the mothers in the supermarket rushed to keep their children from toppling toilet paper pyramids.
“I want to know what you said.”
“Nothing!”
Her fingers closed around his arm. She was the grocery store mother he had admired and feared and loved to see grabbing other children. He found himself doing exactly what those other children did—twisting to get free. “You’re hurting me,” he whined.
“Do you know who was spying on us?”
“Ow!”
“Roy!”
“I can’t think when you squeeze my arm like that.”
“All right!” She released him. “Your fat arm is free. Now think.”
He rubbed his arm. He couldn’t even remember the question. Tears of self-pity welled in his eyes.
“Do you know who was spying on us?” Retta asked in an unnaturally calm voice.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Roy’s arm still bore her fingerprint marks. He regarded his arm closely. “Look,” he accused, “you squeezed.”
“And I’m squeezing again if you don’t tell me right this minute.” She reached toward him.
“All right!” He drew back. He hesitated. He had promised Johnny he would not tell Retta, and he now weighed Retta’s anger against Johnny’s. The deciding factor was that Retta was here, threatening pain now.
“It was Arthur,” he confessed quickly.
“What? Who’s Arthur?”
“Johnny’s friend—you know, with the airplane?”
“He was spying on us?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t doing it to be mean. Johnny said so. Arthur happened to see us walking down the street one night with our inner tubes and he wondered where we were going. He just moved here, see, like us, and he didn’t know where people swam. That was all. He and Johnny laughed about it later. Johnny said not to tell you because
“Why did you do that?” Retta asked.
“Yeah, Johnny,” Roy gasped, “we could have been arrested.”
Johnny looked up at them. Water ran down his forehead from his dripping hair. He wrapped his clothes tighter and put them under his arm like a football.
“Now who’s chicken?” he said.
R OY WAS CONNECTING DOTS in a puzzle book he had given Johnny for his birthday.
“You’re going to ruin Johnny’s book,” Retta said. She was sitting on the sofa watching him critically.
“I am not.”
He connected the next two dots with special care and drew back to view his work. He nodded his approval.
“You don’t know your numbers,” Retta went on. “How can you connect numbered dots when you don’t know your numbers?”
“This happens to be a picture of a pony and I do know ponies. I rode on one one time.”
He bent over the book again. He loved to connect dots. He considered becoming a dot connector when he grew up. He liked the thought of himself at a desk, connecting dots while his secretary sharpened pencils.
“That’s no pony,” Retta said in a disgusted voice.
Roy jerked the book up and hid the half-finished picture against his chest. “It is too.”
“It’s a zebra. You’re supposed to be going up and down making stripes instead of plodding on around!”
Retta got up and went to the kitchen. When she was gone, Roy lowered his book and looked critically at his picture.
“I was going to make the stripes,” he explained to the empty doorway, “only I was doing the outside dots first, so there!”
Retta did not answer.
“You think you know everything.”
He connected two dots, one at the top of the zebra, one at the bottom. He regarded his work with pleasure.
“Well, you don’t!”
He heard the sound of water in the kitchen. He began nodding his head for emphasis. “You don’t even know who was spying on us night before last.”
The water stopped running. There was a silence in the kitchen and in the living room.
Roy realized what he had said. His fingers, fat as sausages, flattened his mouth. His eyes rolled to Retta as she appeared in the doorway.
“What did you say?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nothing.”
Retta crossed the room as quickly as the mothers in the supermarket rushed to keep their children from toppling toilet paper pyramids.
“I want to know what you said.”
“Nothing!”
Her fingers closed around his arm. She was the grocery store mother he had admired and feared and loved to see grabbing other children. He found himself doing exactly what those other children did—twisting to get free. “You’re hurting me,” he whined.
“Do you know who was spying on us?”
“Ow!”
“Roy!”
“I can’t think when you squeeze my arm like that.”
“All right!” She released him. “Your fat arm is free. Now think.”
He rubbed his arm. He couldn’t even remember the question. Tears of self-pity welled in his eyes.
“Do you know who was spying on us?” Retta asked in an unnaturally calm voice.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Roy’s arm still bore her fingerprint marks. He regarded his arm closely. “Look,” he accused, “you squeezed.”
“And I’m squeezing again if you don’t tell me right this minute.” She reached toward him.
“All right!” He drew back. He hesitated. He had promised Johnny he would not tell Retta, and he now weighed Retta’s anger against Johnny’s. The deciding factor was that Retta was here, threatening pain now.
“It was Arthur,” he confessed quickly.
“What? Who’s Arthur?”
“Johnny’s friend—you know, with the airplane?”
“He was spying on us?”
“Yes, but he wasn’t doing it to be mean. Johnny said so. Arthur happened to see us walking down the street one night with our inner tubes and he wondered where we were going. He just moved here, see, like us, and he didn’t know where people swam. That was all. He and Johnny laughed about it later. Johnny said not to tell you because