Where You End by Anna Pellicioli Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s free. We’d take the bus from home and sit on the side where no one could see us, because she was always afraid. I don’t know what she was scared of. Maybe those guys … ” she says as she points to the purple-robe ladies. “Anyway, we didn’t go to Mass, but we came here. We loved it. We would just sit super-quiet and listen.”
    Rituals. I think of my own mom at home, of how I can’t possibly tell her what I did. Paloma’s mother loved music like my mother loves art. It’s like I smashed an organ. At church. I could smoke a thousand cigarettes, get drunk every Saturday, screw boys right and left, but this will really break my mother’s heart. She’s going to think it’s her fault. She’s going to think I was messing with her, that I pushed the statue just to hurt her.
    â€œSo,” Paloma says, “let’s talk. You know I followed you into the museum … ”
    â€œRight,” I say.
    â€œ … and you’ re not going to tell me why you pushed the sculpture. At least not now.”
    â€œI don’t really know … ”
    â€œThat’s okay. We have time. The thing is, I’m in trouble. I have been for a while, and when I saw you push the Picasso, well, I knew you were in trouble too. After you ran, I went down there to look at the sculpture. Everyone was freaking out, but nobody seemed to know what happened. Nobody was looking for you. I couldn’t believe it. Then I saw you on the stairs, and started thinking maybe I was the only one who saw. That’s why I followed you.”
    â€œBecause you saw me or because you’re in trouble?”
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œWhat kind of trouble?” I ask.
    â€œMy kind of trouble,” she says.
    â€œGot it,” I say.
    â€œI had to leave the house,” she says.
    â€œOh,” I say.
    â€œMy mom got sick, and it was too much.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say.
    She nods. “She moved us all in with her brother and my aunt, but I couldn’t take it anymore. Not right now. I had to go for a few days.”
    â€œYou left?”
    â€œYeah, sort of. I just had to go.”
    â€œHow long have you been gone?” I ask.
    Paloma looks at me, but she doesn’t answer. A few, long, cold seconds go by.
    â€œSo what do you want me to do?” I ask.
    â€œI’m not sure how this is gonna work,” she says, thinking, as she bites her fingernails one by one and spits them in her palm. I try not to stare and wait.
    â€œI have a little brother, ” she says, louder than I expected.
    â€œOkay?” I nudge.
    â€œHe’s little. He’s only four. My aunt and uncle have to work, and I don’t know who’s taking care of him.” She stuffs her fingernails into the pocket of her jeans.
    â€œIsn’t your mom there?” I ask.
    â€œI told you,” she says, “my mom is sick. She can’t take care of anybody.”
    â€œOkay. Well, is he in school, or is four too little? I don’t—”
    â€œYes, he’s in school,” Paloma interrupts, “but I usually take him there, and tomorrow’s Monday, and I don’t think I’m going back.”
    â€œEver?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know.”
    â€œWell, I ’m sure your uncle will figure it out, and won’t you—”
    â€œJust be quiet for a second,” she snaps, cupping her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t think. Let me think.”
    I shut my lips and think about what to do. Although she’s already blackmailed me and snapped at me, I feel the urge to comfort her. Something about this girl and her trouble, whatever it may be, is pulling me in. I try not to look at her as she thinks.
    â€œYou said you haven’t told anybody about the sculpture, right?” she asks.
    â€œI don’t think I said that,” I whisper.
    She smirks. “Yes you did.”
    I