The Road to Paris by Nikki Grimes Read Free Book Online Page B

at school. Paris couldn’t even get away from it during lunch. Take this afternoon, for instance.
    When Paris and her classmates filed into the cafeteria, they found the walls plastered with paper snowflakes, drawings of Christmas trees, and pictures of Santa with a beard made from cotton balls.
    “I can’t wait till Christmas break,” said a boy named Warren.
    “Me neither,” said Ashley.
    “You guys are lucky,” said Warren’s buddy, Brad. “You get to stay home for Christmas. My dad is dragging us to California to visit our cousins so we can have a Christmas barbecue on the beach! How lame is that?”
    “Sounds like fun!” said Ashley.
    “You gotta be kiddin’!” said Brad. “Who ever heard of Christmas without snow?”
    “People in Hawaii,” said Lee Young. “And parts of Africa.”
    “All I’m sayin’ is, Christmas is not the same without snow,” Brad continued to argue.
    “Forget the snow,” said Brian. “I can’t wait to see what presents I get.”
    “I love putting up the tree,” said Ashley. “And driving around town to see all the lights on people’s houses.”
    “And the Nativity scenes,” said a girl named Lori.
    “Yeah!” said Ashley.
    “Last year,” said Warren, “my church had a living Nativity and my baby sister was Jesus.”
    “Stop lying!” said Brian. “How they gonna use a girl baby to play Jesus?”
    “At that age, it don’t make much difference,” said Warren. “Wrap them up in a blanket, and all babies look the same.”
    Their lunch trays full, the group split off to find seats with their friends. Paris and Ashley found two free spaces and sat together.
    “What’s the matter?” Ashley asked Paris.
    “Nothing,” said Paris, pasting a smile on her face.
    “You’re awfully quiet,” said Ashley. “Is something wrong?”
    “No. I’m fine,” said Paris.
    Except I miss Malcolm more than ever.
    For Paris, the best thing about Christmas was being with her brother. And this Christmas, she didn’t even know where he was.
    •    •    •
    Paris ate her lunch in silence, nodding occasionally as Ashley chattered on about the holiday.
    Christmas might as well be just another day, as far as Paris was concerned. Viola certainly didn’t seem to notice it. Either that or she didn’t care. Every afternoon, Paris ran to check the mail hoping to find a package, or at least a card from her mother. Every evening, Paris waited for the phone to ring, hoping to find her mother on the other end. But every afternoon and evening ended in disappointment.
    It doesn’t matter
, Paris would tell herself. Then she’d put Viola out of her mind for a while, because thinking about her hurt too much.
    All the Lincolns were extra nice to Paris, making sure to include her in their family traditions. Like dragging her to the Christmas tree farm.
    Paris didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want to makeMrs. Lincoln feel bad. Once she got there, out in the crisp pine-washed air, it wasn’t half bad. And the trees were worth seeing, taller and fatter than any Paris had ever seen at storefronts in New York City.
    “Aren’t they great?” said David, grinning.
    “They’re okay,” said Paris.
    “Okay? Are you blind?”
    David shook his head and ran down the rows of evergreens, Jordan fast on his heels. Paris could hear Jordan’s squeals of excitement as he and David ran from tree to tree, trying to decide which was the best. It seemed to take forever before they chose one.
    Back home, everyone pitched in, decorating the tree while Paris watched from the sidelines. The one thing she seemed to enjoy was the Christmas music playing on the stereo. As long as that was on, she sat in the living room with the rest of the family, humming along with the record.
    •    •    •
    On Christmas morning, Paris found a few presents under the tree with her name on them, marked “From Santa.” Santa was as boring as her grandmother: he’d given her socks, pink earmuffs