Willa by Heart by Coleen Murtagh Paratore Read Free Book Online

dear—not serious.
    EMILY: Seriously,—will you?
    MRS. WEBB: Of course, I will.
    EMILY: Mama, am I good looking?
    MRS. WEBB: Yes, of course you are. All my children have got good features; I’d be ashamed if they hadn’t.
    EMILY: Oh, Mama, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is: am I
pretty?
    MRS. WEBB: I’ve already told you, yes…. I never heard of such foolishness.
    EMILY: Oh, Mama, you never tell us the truth about anything.
    I finish all the lines from act 1, then move on to act 2. Auditions are a week from Friday. I just have to get this part. I just have to be Emily.
    I pull out the bag of taffy from my nightstand, open up a peppermint one, and pop it in. Mmmm, good. Which book tonight?
Wuthering Heights or Wizard of Oz?
    I pick the yellow brick road.

CHAPTER 9
Come Home Cape Cod

    I’m going to make speeches all my life.
    â€”Emily,
Our Town
    By Thursday afternoon I still haven’t come up with a good idea for our next Community Service project, and Freshman Class Meeting is tomorrow.
    â€œHow about a race for the heart association?” Mom suggests. “Maybe in Gramp’s memory.” My mother runs 5K and 10K road races to raise money for various charities.
    Mrs. Saperstone has another thought. “Maybe your class could become literacy volunteers,” she says. “It only takes a few weeks to learn how to teach someone to read. It would be a perfect follow-up to your campaign to save the library. We do the training right here, and a new session is starting soon.”
    â€œHow about a book drive?” Sam suggests. “A lot of schools lost everything in that hurricane down South last month,” Sam says. “Maybe you could collect books to restock a school library. That would be a fine contribution.”
    On Friday morning I’m in the kitchen making tea when I see Rosie’s paycheck on the counter next to her purse. I shouldn’t look. It’s none of my business, but I do.
    What? That’s all Rosie makes for a whole week working here? That’s less than Tina spends on clothes in a week.
    I go and find my mother. “Why don’t we pay Rosie more?”
    Mom raises her eyebrows. “How do you know what we pay Rosie?”
    I tell her how I snooped, but that isn’t the point.
    â€œIt’s none of your business, Willa,” Mom says, “but that’s actually several dollars above minimum wage. Rosie doesn’t have a college degree and—”
    â€œWhy does that matter? She’s an awesome cook, especially desserts. She should have her own bakery or something. So what if she doesn’t have a degree? How is she supposed to take careof Liliana and buy a house for them and put her through college someday—”
    â€œWhoa, Willa. A house?” My mother lowers her voice, looks around to make sure no guests are nearby. “Rosie’s lucky she can afford an apartment. She’s lucky she has this job.”
    â€œYou mean Liliana is never going to have her own house? A yard with a swing set and a sliding—”
    â€œWilla.” Mom smiles. “You have such a good heart. It’s wonderful you care so much, but … hmmm, wait, you made me think of something. I was just reading in the paper about a new organization called Come Home Cape Cod. Yesterday’s paper, I think. They are raising money to build houses for low-income Cape Cod families.”
    That’s it.
“That’s great, Mom, thanks!”
    I go up to my room to do some research. I find the article about Come Home Cape Cod in the
Cape Cod Times.
JFK’s father is the publisher. Maybe he knows more about it. The story talks about how finding affordable housing has become a serious problem on Cape Cod. Developers are swallowing up land and building expensive vacation homes, while many people who grew up hereare being forced to move off Cape because they can’t afford to live here anymore.
    Come Home