The Mighty Miss Malone by Christopher Paul Curtis Read Free Book Online Page B

here has been so busy waiting for another escaped slave that he hasn’t had a chance to read a newspaper for the last … how long have we been free?”
    Father did the math in his head. “Seventy-three years. Wow, it was only seventy-three years ago that Lincoln freed the slaves. So, Dar Dawt, this guy’s so happy because he
just
heard about the Emancipation Proclamation! He’s overjoyed because he can quit fighting for freedom and get back to quaking.”
    I pulled the round cardboard top off of the oatmeal box and stuck my face over the opening. The smell of the oatmeal was lovely. I closed the box and shook it. Shaking made little bits of powder float around inside the box.
    When I pulled the lid off again I dropped the box and screamed.
    Mother and Father jumped and Jimmie came running into the kitchen.
    I pointed at the floor. There, along with the spilled cereal, was a army of teeny-weeny, wiggling-squiggling, wormy-looking bugs and beetles trying to hide under the flakes of oatmeal.
    Mother said, “Deza Malone, do you have any idea how much a box of oatmeal costs? Sweep that cereal back into the box this instant.”
    I don’t know what was a bigger surprise, the bugs and worms, or Mother telling me to sweep them back.
    Father smiled at me. “Deza, those are only some harmless beetles that hitched a ride.”
    I couldn’t believe I was having to point out something so obvious to Father. Most times he was very quick to understand. I crossed my arms. “But they’re bugs. Bugs in the food?”
    He crouched down so he was looking me square in the eye, something that made me feel big and important and small and silly at the same time.
    “Deza, times are hard, we can’t waste a thing.”
    I stamped my foot. “Father, they’re bugs!”
    He went from crouching to sitting on the floor with his legs crossed in front of him.
    “My Mighty Miss Malone. You know I haven’t worked regular for months now. We’re going to have to be very careful until I can find work. That might be a while.”
    He reached over and pinched a bunch of the spilled oatmeal into his hand. A couple of bugs scurried around in hispalm, ducking between flakes like they were hiding under a umbrella.
    “The bugs are harmless.”
    Father smiled and tossed the oatmeal, bugs and all, into his mouth!
    Jimmie yelled, “Holy mack-a-rollee!”
    He scooped up a pinch of bugs and cereal and threw them into his mouth.
    Mother said, “Roscoe! James! Neither one of you knows when to stop. Deza, before I cook the oatmeal I always sift any of those beetles out, and the boiling water kills any germs.”
    The news was getting worse! Mother had used buggy oatmeal before! I felt my stomach clenching and twisting, just like I’d eaten another bad piece of fish.
    Mother said, “The last time I checked, Deza, your birth certificate said ‘Malone’ and not ‘Rockefeller.’ We just can’t afford to throw any kind of food out, my dear.”
    Father got up and started out of the kitchen.
    Jimmie said, “Hey, Pa, how come you quit talking?”
    Father had been quiet since he’d put the buggy oatmeal in his mouth. Jimmie grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong, Pa, cat got your tongue?”
    Father had tried to teach me a lesson but the lesson wasn’t going to go as far as chewing or swallowing the wiggling worms.
    Father slapped the back of Jimmie’s head and when Jimmie said, “Hey!” and ducked, Father spit the oatmeal into his other hand. “What, Jimmie? I didn’t quite hear what you said.”
    All the way to school Jimmie couldn’t quit talking about how him and Father had ate some bugs.
    “Wait till I tell everyone!”
    I rolled my eyes. That was all he needed to do, give people more ammunition to shoot at him on the last day of school, but with Jimmie it’s best to come at things sideways.
    “Jimmie, don’t tell anyone, you know we’re not supposed to talk with anyone about what happens at home.”
    Jimmie said, “Yeah, that means we can’t talk about