So Much for Democracy by Kari Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

Buying sun-spots made out of God knows what kind of water…”
    I’m breathless, and I can only stare at her.
    If Gordo was gearing up for a tantrum before, he goes still as a rock now. He opens his mouth, but no voice comes out.
    Ebo says, “My mom has always let us have them, ever since we were little.”
    â€œWell, that’s your family,” says Mom. Her mouth is a fine, thin line.
    â€œCome on, Thema, we’ll let Astrid and Gordo talk with their mom,” says Ebo.
    He and Thema walk down toward the water where their parents are swimming. Thema turns back to look at me, but I look away, because I know what the expression on her face will be, and I don’t want to see it.

NINE
    It takes Mom a couple of days to get back to normal, but by Tuesday she seems more or less okay. Not her old self, but not completely crazy either. She whistles as she rounds us all up, tells us the rules and hustles us into the car to go to school. I don’t say anything about the weekend—I sure don’t want to risk being grounded again—and I hope Mom was only temporarily stressed.
    School is its normal boring self. Sister Mary drones on about Ghanaian geography, and Bassam tries to pull my hair. The only thing that’s a bit exciting is when Bassam tries to talk to the soldiers over the wall, and Sister Mary grabs him by the collar and pulls him away. I don’t think Sister Mary knows I’m sitting under the tree and can hear them, because she says, “Honestly, Bassam, if you were anyone else’s son you’d be expelled for saying something like that. Now stop goading the soldiers and keep your opinions to yourself.”
    Bassam hangs his head and says, “Yes, Sister Mary,” but after she leaves, he laughs and calls to the boys, “Did you see that?” Something about the tone of his voice makes me shiver.
    It’s a relief when school is over for the day and we can go home.
    Mom’s still cheery when she picks us up, and she chats on the way home about some new plant she and Thomas are trying out in the garden. We eat scrambled eggs for lunch, and afterward, Mom puts Piper down for her nap.
    I go outside to read under the tree for a bit while the household is quiet. It’s a little cooler today, and there are clouds in the sky. It might even rain. Thomas comes by, holding something behind his back, and when he reaches me, he says, “Guess which hand.”
    â€œRight,” I say.
    He holds out his right hand. It’s wrapped around a bundle, which he places in my lap.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œOpen it and see.” He leans against the tree.
    The bundle is a piece of cloth draped around something hard. I feel it, then say, “Oh, it’s Piper’s hippo!”
    Thomas grins. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
    I pull the cloth off and run my hand over the smooth surface of the carving. The hippo is smaller than I expected, all round ears and snout and bum. It has stubby legs and pin-prick eyes. It seems to be smiling. “It’s beautiful,” I say.
    â€œI made it small for Piper to hold,” says Thomas. He takes it from me and cradles it in his hand. “See?”
    â€œShe’ll love it,” I say.
    â€œYou can give it to her when she wakes up,” he says.
    â€œYou should give it to her.”
    â€œNo, Asteroid, you should.” He hands me back the hippo and wraps my hand around it.
    I don’t know what to say. Should I offer to pay him? Should I ask him him to give it to Piper so she knows he made it? Before I can answer my questions, Thomas says, “It’s a new model for me. I think people will like this one.”
    It makes me feel better to know he will be able to sell other hippos.
    I run my thumb across the smooth wood one more time, then say, “Thank you, Thomas. It’s really special. She’ll love it.”
    Dad comes home a few minutes later with Mr. Ampofo,