Night Swimmers by Betsy Byars Read Free Book Online Page A

he wanted you to be worried.”
    “Did he?”
    Retta was cold now. She seemed suddenly taller, an adult. Roy looked up at her. He hesitated for a moment. Then he surprised himself by saying, “Anyway, you spied on us.”
    The tone of his voice made it an accusation, and Retta looked down at him in surprise. “What?”
    “You did too spy on us. At the park.”
    “I did not spy.”
    “Johnny said you did. He saw you. He said you were sitting under a tree and as soon as we finished flying the plane you got up and ran home and sat down at the table so we’d think you’d been there the whole time.”
    Retta straightened. She tried to regain the powerful, adult feeling she had had only a moment before, but the room seemed to have tilted and left her off-balance. “That was different,” she said.
    “No.” Roy shook his head back and forth. “It was the same.”
    “It was different,” she explained, “because I was looking after you guys, making sure you were all right.”
    “You were spying,” Roy said.
    “If you are so stupid that you can’t tell the difference between looking after someone and spying on someone—well, you’re just hopeless, that’s all.”
    She turned abruptly and strode into the kitchen. There was an explosion of sounds. Water rushed into the sink. Pots rattled. Dishes spun on the table. The refrigerator door slammed.
    “Spying is spying,” Roy said wisely.
    He went back to his book. With great care he connected the dots on the zebra’s tail. He had been saving that till last, like dessert. As an added personal touch he drew seven hairs on the end of the zebra’s tail. He was so pleased with this original touch that he wanted to rush out the door and show it to the world.
    Head shaking with admiration, he paid the picture his highest compliment.
    “You,” he said, “should be put in a frame.”

R ETTA SAT ON THE back steps with her arms over her knees. She lifted her head idly and looked at the house behind theirs. A face at one window moved out of sight. Retta closed her eyes.
    She had felt isolated ever since her family moved to this neighborhood. It was a neighborhood of old people, and Retta knew that none of them approved of the Anderson family. When Shorty Anderson went out at night, rhinestones gleaming, high-gloss boots clicking on the pavement, yelling, “Be good!” to his children on the porch, Retta saw the older women on their porches look at each other and shake their heads. They also disapproved, Retta knew, of the Anderson children who “ran loose at night like dogs.”
    If we still lived in our old neighborhood, Retta thought, where we had friends …
    “Well, what are you doing out here all by yourself?” a voice asked behind her.
    Retta glanced over her shoulder at the screen door. “Oh, hi, Brendelle.” Brendelle was Shorty Anderson’s girl friend.
    “I just stopped by and Shorty invited me to stay for supper. You going to have enough?”
    “We’re just having grilled peanut butter sandwiches,” Retta said without interest.
    “Oh, listen, grill me two. I love them things.”
    Brendelle stepped onto the porch and let the screen door slam behind her. She sat on the steps beside Retta. She stuck out her left foot and pulled up the leg of her pants. “Look at that,” she said. “I’m supposed to clog tonight at the Downtown Hoedown and my ankle is swollen up like a football.”
    “What happened?” Retta asked, still looking across the fence.
    “I was getting in the car over at Foodland and this new boy was carrying out my groceries and he puts the groceries in the back seat and then he goes, ‘Have a nice day, ma’am,’ and slams the front door right on my leg. My leg was sticking out, you know, like it does when you’re getting in the car. I wanted to hit him over the head. I mean, honey, I got to clog tonight and you got to have two good legs to clog. You think anybody’s going to notice?”
    “No.”
    Brendelle turned her leg and looked at