Paper Things by Jennifer Richard Jacobson Read Free Book Online

mind as much when it’s just him crashing at their place. Maybe he and Chloe can even have a date night!
    She pauses. “Or we could stay at Janna’s.”
    My stomach lurches. “I thought you didn’t like it at Janna’s that much,” I say, hoping this sounds like the logical reason for not inviting her over for months.
    “She rents the best movies,” Sasha says.
    “Forty-eight-hour rule,” I say, sighing with what I hope sounds like regret. I always used to hate this rule of Janna’s — that she needed at least forty-eight hours’ notice before a guest came over — but now I’m grateful for it.
    Sasha sighs, too, though hers sounds less regretful and more frustrated. “I’ll ask my mother if you can come over
again
tomorrow night.”
    “Great!” I say, trying to ignore the emphasis.
    “Call tonight after you ask,” she says.
    “OK,” I say, hoping she won’t wonder why I’m calling on Gage’s phone again.
    Even though I know that Sasha is a little bit resentful about having to ask her mother if I can stay over
again,
all I can think of at this moment is that extra twin bed in her room, with the puffy comforter and clean, crisp sheets.
    Heaven.
    As I cross the road to Head Start, I see the airplane man from the soup kitchen sitting against a brick apartment building. He’s got his arms wrapped around his dog, his chin resting on its head. The dog lifts its head and wags its tail as I come closer.
    If Janna, the Queen of Rules, as Gage likes to say, were with me, she’d pull me away and remind me never to speak to strangers (rule number 72). But I’ve seen this man lots of times at the soup kitchen, so he’s no longer a stranger to me. Besides, the dog is looking at me with its big brown eyes, and all I can think about is Leroy, our old terrier.
    “May I pet him?” My voice wobbles a little. I’ve never spoken to the airplane man before, not even to ask for a plane. Guess I felt that I should have outgrown them — the way I probably should have outgrown my Paper Things by now.
    He nods and I reach down and touch the soft brown fur between the dog’s ears. The dog reaches its nose out and nudges the palm of my hand as if to say, “More.”
    “What’s his name?” I ask.
    “
Her
name’s Amelia.”
    Amelia smells funky, like Leroy used to when he went too long between baths, but I move my hand all the way down her back just the same.
    “Poor girl hasn’t eaten today,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down his beard, like his chin itches.
    “How come?”
    “Some days food’s just a little harder to come by.” Amelia rolls over to show us her tummy. She’s loving the pats.
    “The soup kitchen doesn’t allow dogs, right?” I ask.
    He nods, looking at me more closely now, like he’s trying to place me. “Right. But even if they did, dogs need food that’s made for a dog,” he says. “Or eventually they get sick.”
    Poor Amelia. I reach into my coat pocket and touch the coins I’ve collected today. They’re more than just found money; they’re my way of showing Gage that I can help. But then I look at Amelia’s eyes, and I swear my stomach does a flip-flop.
    “Here,” I say, holding out the fourteen cents. “I know it’s not much, but if you keep looking, you might find enough to buy a can of dog food. A can of Alpo only costs fifty-two cents at Walmart.” I know because I was cutting cans and boxes out of the mailer last week to tuck behind my paper cabinets.
    “You seem to know a lot of things,” he says. “What’s your name?”
    “Ari. Short for Arianna.”
    “Thanks, Ari. But I can’t take your money.”
    “It’s OK,” I say. “I’ll feel better if I know Amelia isn’t hungry.”
    “You’re a good kid,” he says, and lets me drop the coins into his palm. Just then, I hear my name called from across the street. It’s Carol at Head Start, and she’s holding the door open for me.
    “I better go,” I say, giving Amelia one last pat.
    “Next time I see