Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume Read Free Book Online Page A

Then I tear off another piece and write Wolf .
    I get pleasure from seeing my hand form the letters. I write it in all caps. WOLF . I write it in all lower case letters. wolf . I spell it backwards. flow . I’m surprised to find that it spells a word. Davey and Wolf. Wolf and Davey . I open the trunk at the foot of the bed and place both pieces of paper inside it, on the paisley lining. Then I decide to put my angora sweater set in there too, on top of the papers. And my fisherman’s pullover. Also, the letter from Lenaya, which she wrote and mailed on the day we left Atlantic City. And then the breadknife. I’ve been hiding it under my bed every morning but if Bitsy decides to vacuum and moves the bed, she’ll find it, and that will mean questions andmore questions. Better to keep it in the trunk during the day and to take it out only at night, when I might need it.
    At dinner Mom asks me how my day was.
    “Very interesting,” I tell her. I see Bitsy raise her eyebrows. “And relaxing,” I add, hoping to avoid any questions. “How was Cochiti Lake?”
    “Very nice,” Mom says. “Walter explained the whole history of the area to us.”
    I’ll bet he did, I think.
    “It’s a man-made lake,” Jason says. “And it’s big enough to sail a boat.”
    “A small boat,” Walter says.
    “A small boat,” Jason repeats.
    “You missed a nice day, Davey,” Bitsy tells me.
    I hide my smile in a glass of milk.
    L ater, I sit with Jason on the deck. We snuggle together in one lounge chair, star gazing. The sky is so clear here that without any trouble I can make out the Dipper. I am able to find Cassiopeia, too. Walter is so impressed with what he considers my interest in astronomy that he has given me a book: The Beginners Guide to Stars and Planets .
    “Look, Jason,” I say. “There’s Cygnus. The swan. Can you make out the neck … the wings?”
    “I think so,” Jason says, yawning. “I want to.”
    Impulsively, I hug him.
    “Watch it,” he says.

THIRTEEN
    Two nights before we are due to fly home the phone rings. Walter answers. It is Audrey, my mother’s friend from Atlantic City. “She probably wants to pick us up at the airport,” Mom says, taking the call in the kitchen.
    But when she comes back to the living room her face is deadly pale. “The store has been attacked by vandals,” she says, quietly. “They shot out the windows and the inside is a mess. They smashed everything they could get their hands on.”
    Who would do such a terrible thing to us? I think. What have we ever done to anybody?
    “The police have no leads,” Mom continues. “But they don’t think it’s related to the robbery … to the …” Her voice trails off. She manages to say, “To the last time,” before she covers her face with her hands.
    The room is filled with the sound of a long, low wail. It sends shivers down my back. I look around, trying to identify it, then realize it is coming from my mother.
    “Damn them!” she screams. “Damn them to hell!”
    I know how she feels. I want to comfort her. To hold her close the way she held me when Jason had his nosebleed. But she is hysterical now, raving and ranting around the room, pulling at her own hair, screaming and crying and flinging aside whatever is in her way. Needlepoint cushions fly into the air, a stack of books is swept off the table with one movement of her arm, an amber glass ashtray smashes against the fireplace.
    Jason stands in front of the grandfather clock, his hands over his ears. I can tell he is afraid. I am frightened, too. But even more, I am surprised. I’ve never seen my mother lose control. Not the night my father was killed, not at his funeral, not ever.
    Until now.
    Mom knocks over a lamp. I wait for Walter or Bitsy to stop her. Why are they just standing there like zombies? Why doesn’t somebody do something! But then Mom kicks the wall with her bare foot and cries out in pain. She has hurt herself. The shock is enough to stop