Published by

Dell Publishing Co., Inc.
1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza
New York, New York 10017

Copyright © 1971 by Judy Blume

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of
brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing
from The Bradbury Press, Inc., Scarsdale, New York 10583.
Laurel-Leaf Library ® TM 766734, Dell Publishing Co.. Inc.

ISBN; 0-440-98659-1
RL: 4.5

Reprinted by arrangement with The Bradbury Press, Inc.

Printed in the United States of America

First Laurel-Leaf printing—January 1976

Second Laurel-Leaf printing—September 1976

Third Laurel-Leaf printing—March 1977

Fourth Laurel-Leaf printing—March 1978

Fifth Laurel-Leaf printing—September 1978

Sixth Laurel-Leaf printing—February 1979

Seventh Laurel-Leaf printing—May 1979

Eighth Laurel-Leaf printing—October 1979

Ninth Laurel-Leaf printing—June 1980

Tenth Laurel-Leaf printing—December 1980

Eleventh Laurel-Leaf printing—May 1981

Then again,
maybe I won't

Who says March is supposed to come in like a lion
and go out like a lamb? That's a lot of bull. All it's
done this March is rain. I'm sick of it.

"Hey Tony . . ." Mrs. Gorsky yelled from her up-
stairs window.

I pretended not to hear her. I took a Jersey Jour-
nal out of my sack and tossed it onto her front porch.
Pcw-Pow-Pow 1 got you Mrs. Gorsky! Now you can't
scream if I don't put your paper under your doormat.

This time she banged on the top of her window
while she yelled. 'Tony Miglionel I know you can hear
me!"

Sure I can. So can the whole neighborhood.

^Don't you forget to put my paper under my door-
mat!"

X didn*t say anything.

"TONY..."

Then I turned around and looked up at the window.
"Who, me?"

'•Yes ... yout"

**But it's pouring, Mrs. Gorsky," I called.

"So? You won't melt."

Maybe I will. Then youTI be in big trouble because
my family will come looking for me and you'll have to
tell them how I melted down to nothing right on your
front porch.

I walked away from Mrs. Gorsky's house. She was
still banging on her window. Well, let her. I didn't feel
like climbing her porch steps. What's the worst thing
she can do to me? Call my boss . . . that's what So?
He'll understand. There's no rule that says I've got to
put the paper under her doormat. As long as it doesn't
land in the bushes I'm allowed to throw it from the
sidewalk. If this rain ever stops, I'll go back to doing
it her way. Then she'll be satisfied.

I don't know what I'll do about my paper route next
year, when I go to junior high. I don't want to give it
up. But Jefferson Junior has an after-school basketball
league and I want to play in it. Basketball is my favor-
ite sport. I just wish I was taller. My brother Ralph
says I'll probably sprout up at fourteen like he did. I
hope I don't have to wait that long. It's important to be
tall when you're playing basketball. You're that much
closer to the basket. I play at the Y all day Saturday
and every Sunday afternoon. Always with the same
bunch of guys—Frankie Bollino, Joe Schenk, Joe Ro-
sella and BiUy Turner. We call the two Joes, Big Joe
and Little Joe. Rosella's the big one.

Maybe my boss will let me deliver later in the after-
noon next year. I hope so. I could get around a lot
faster if I had a bike I could depend on. But all I've
got is Ralph's old one, which doesn't work most of the
time. I've be&n thinking about buying a new bike—a
ten-speed Schwinn—bright red. But my father says it's
more important to put my money in the bank for col-
lege. He's saving for my education already and I don't
even know what I want to be. Suppose I don't want to
go to college? My father will be disappointed. He wants
me to be a teacher, like Ralph. And we have a State
Teachers College right here in Jersey City. That's where
Ralph went and where Angle goes now. She's Ralph's

wife. They live upstairs. Between the two of them you'd
think they invented education.

I wonder how I'll feel going to the school where my
brother teaches. Probably I won't get Ralph anyway. At
least I hope I don't It'll be bad enough when the other
kids find out my brother's The Wizard of Seventh Grade
Social Studies. Suppose they get ideas and ask me to fix
it with Ralph for them to get good marks? What will I
do then?

Wait a minute. Maybe I can say I'm no relation to
Ralph Miglione, the teacher. We just happen to have
the same last name. After all, Jersey City is a big place.
Not everybody knows my family. Yeah . , . that's what
111 say. And I'll warn Big Joe, Little Joe, Frankie and
Billy in advance. They're my best friends. They can
keep a secret.

If only the rain would stop.

I can hear my mother saying when I get home,
**Why didn't you wear your rubbers? Why are they just
sitting in the closet?"

Four more houses and I'll be done delivering for the
day. Good. . . . I'm starving. I wonder what's for sup-
per. Grandma does all the cooking at home. She's my
mother's mother and she's really a great cook. Frankie
says he'd rather eat at my house than anywhere.

One thing I really like about Frankie is how he
treats Grandma. He acts like there's nothing wrong
with her. But Grandma can't talk anymore. She bad
cancer of the larynx two years ago and they had to
operate and remove it. She could learn to talk again
through a burping method if she was willing. But she's
not willing. She moves her lips a lot, like she's talking,
but no sound comes out. If she has something really im-
portant to tell us she writes it down—always in Italian,
which I can't read.

Once I caught Billy and Little Joe fooling around
pretending to be my grandmother. They were waving
their arms and moving their lips like Grandma does.
When they saw me standing there they stopped.

If I hurry I might get home before my mother. Then
I can change my shoes and she won't see how wet they
are.

I made it. My mother probably got hung up in traffic
somewhere. That happens a lot when the weather's bad.
She works in Newark, selling underwear in Ohrbach's.
I wonder what it's like watching ladies try on under-
wear all day? I'd really like to get a look at that!

I took off my shoes in the front hall and hung my
raincoat on the hook. My feet were soaked. So were
the bottoms of my pants. I sat down on the floor and
peeled off my socks. One had a big hole in it. Angie
came flying down the stairs then and almost crashed
right into me.

**Tony... you're absolutely drenched!'*

"I know," I said. "It's pouring out."

She started back upstairs. "I'm going to get a towel
to dry off your hair."

lf! can do it myself," I told her. Angie likes to play
mother with me. Sometimes I let her and sometimes I
don't It depends on my mood. My father says Angle
has fat legs. I've been looking at her legs a lot lately
and I don't think they're too fat. I think they're nice.
Maybe some day I'll marry a girl like Angie. Then
again, maybe I won't Maybe I'll never get married.

I went into my room, dried off and changed my
clothes. Then I headed for the kitchen. Grandma was
tossing a salad. *Tm home," I said.

Grandma smiled and offered me an olive. I really
like olives. Big Joe says if you eat a lot of them you

10

make out good with the girls when you're older. But
that's not why I eat them. I liked them before I ever
heard about that. Big Joe knows plenty. He told me and
Frankie about wet dreams. I wonder if I'll ever have
one?

"What's for supper?" I asked Grandma.

She pointed to the oven.

"Chicken?" I asked.

Grandma shook her head,

"Lamb?"

She shook it again. -

"Veal?"

Now Grandma nodded. I play this game with her
every night. She likes me to guess what we're having
to eat. The only way I can have a conversation with her
is if I ask the questions and she answers by moving
her head. As far as I know Grandma spends her time
doing two things. One is, she cooks. And the other is,
she walks to church every single morning. I think she's
Father Pissaro's best customer.

When my mother and father got home we all sat
down to supper. Ralph and Angie eat with us every
night too. I don't think Angie knows how to cook.

Pop told us that starting tomorrow morning he'll be
working on an office building downtown. They need a
lot of rewiring done. My father's an electrician. He
works for a contractor. He's even got his own truck. It
says Vie Miglione on the door. Under that there's a
picture of a telephone book with you saw it in the yel-
low pages written across.

"Is it a big job?" my mother asked.

"Pretty big," Pop said. "Should last about four
weeks."

"Well, that's something," Mom said.

I was just about finished with my veal cutlet when

11

Ralph pushed his plate away and said, "Angle went to
the doctor today. You might as well know . . . she's
pregnant."

My mother said, "Ralph . . . Ralph . . ." She shook
her head.

My father closed his eyes.

Grandma moved her lips very fast.

Angle jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

I know I shouldn't think about Ralph and Angie the
way I do. I know I shouldn't think about what you have
to do to get somebody pregnant. But sometimes I just
can't help it. He and Angie really do those things.
Ralph admitted it. All of a sudden it was very quiet.
Did they know what I was thinking? I tried a laugh
and said, "What's everybody so gloomy about? They're
married!" I meant this to be a joke but nobody got it.

'Tony . . . Tony . . ." my mother said in her Ralph
. . . Ralph voice. "You don't understand."

"Understand what?" I asked.

Ralph explained. "We don't have much money, Kid.
Angie was supposed to teach for a few years to get us
started. We can't afford to have a baby."

"Oh..." I said.

Angie didn't stay in the bathroom long. She came
back to the table and sat down. She didn't look so
good but she smiled at me.

"Well, you're going to be an uncle. Tony. How does
it feel?"

"Oh fine." What was I supposed to say?

Then Angie looked at Ralph and started to cry
again. My mother stood up and put an arm around
her. "It's all right, Angie. Well help out. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry?" Aagie asked. "You and Pop
have done so much already. The apartment upstairs
and our meals and . .."

My father coughed. "Listen Angle, you're my fam-

12

ily. That baby is going to be my grandson. . . ."
"How do you know it's a boy?" my mother asked.
"I just know. That's all," my father said.
"I'm sorry,'* Angie told us. "I wanted to teach. I

really did."

"I know ... I know. . . ." my mother said, as if

repeating everything twice meant it wasn't as bad as

it sounded.

"At least Angie will be able to finish college and get

her degree," Ralph said.

*That*s good." My father tried to sound happy.
"Maybe I'll give up Ohrbach's and take care of the

baby so Angie can teach anyway," my mother said.

"Let's wait and see."

While my mother was talking. Grandma got up and

came back with her pad and pencil. She wrote a note

and handed it to my mother, who translated:

We'll call him Vinnie.

Vinnie was my other brother. He was killed in Viet-
nam. My mother got tears in her eyes and she and
Grandma touched hands.

Why does everybody think babies are such an ex-
pense? They're very small and they hardly eat anything.
While I was thinking this Angie ran into the bathroom
again. If you ask me she was puking.

As soon as we got up from the table my father went
downstairs. He's got a workshop fixed up in the base-
ment and that's where he spends all his free time. He
invents things. I don't understand the stuff he does in
his workshop so I don't go down much. Neither does
Ralph. Vinnie was the one with the scientific mind. At
least that's what my family is always saying.

Tonight, when I go to bed, I might think about Vin-
nie. I do that sometimes so I won't forget him. Or may-

13

be I'll concentrate on getting good enough to shoot
thirty baskets a minute.

In a few weeks the weather changed. It was really
spring. I knew because my mother sent my winter
jacket to the cleaner. She never does that unless she's
sure it's going to stay warm. She says changeable
weather is sick weather and that I have to wear a win-
ter jacket until the middle of April, like it or not. What
she doesn't know is that as soon as Fm out of sight I
take off my jacket and carry it around with me.

Once my father finished the job in the office building
he started spending more and more time in his base-
ment workshop. A couple of nights he asked Mom to
give him a sandwich for supper and he even ate down
there. My mother and Ralph are both working at extra
jobs. Mom is staying at the store two nights a week
and Ralph is selling shoes after school and Saturdays.
Every night the family is so pooped out they fall asleep
right after supper. The only good thing about this is I
get to watch whatever I please on TV.

One morning in the middle of breakfast, my father
came into the kitchen wearing his best suit. He was
carrying a small metal box. He didn't sit down at the
table. He just grabbed a cup of coffee and said good-
bye.

"Where's Pop going?" I asked.

"New York," my mother said.

"What for?"

"Eat your eggs," my mother said.

*'I am eating them," I told her. "What's he all dressed
up like that for?"

"Finish your milk too."

I got the point. She wasn't going to discuss it with
me.

My father put on his best suit for the next three days.

14

He left the house carrying that metal box every morning
and he didn't come home until late at night,

Whatever Pop's secret was I felt pretty lousy that
they didn't let me in on it. I had a few ideas of my own
though.

1. My father is a secret agent. The
electrician business is a front. His
real spy work is done in the base-
ment workshop. And his informa-
tion is in that box.

2. My father is in trouble with the
Jersey City mob. He has to testify
at hearings every day. The secrets
are locked in that metal box.

3. My father is sick. He has cancer,
like Grandma. He has to go to
New York for special treatments.
His medicine is in the box.

The more I wondered about Pop the more my stom-
ach started to hurt. Last January I had really bad stom-
ach pains and my mother took me to the doctor. He
said it was nothing—that I just shouldn't eat so much
roughage. I told him I never ate roughage in my whole
life. The doctor laughed and said roughage is lettuce
and celery and stuff like that. So now instead of eating
salad every night I have it only once or twice a week. I
still get a lot of stomach aches. But my mother says it's
gas. I don't even tell her about them anymore. I'm
afraid shell come after me with the castor oil.

At the end of my father's third day out my mother
worked late and Pop met her in Newark. I was already
in bed by the time they came home. I was reading Great
Basketball Heroes of our Times and figuring if I got

15

good enough I could get an athletic scholarship to some
college and my father wouldn't need the money he was
saving for my education. He could use it to pay for the
baby instead.

When they came into my room to say goodnight my
mother asked me to put my book away and listen care-
fully because she had something very important to tell
me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You see Tony . . ." she began. Then she looked at
my father and said, "Oh Vie . . . I'm just too excited.
You tell him."

I sat up in bed. This is it! He's going to tell me. At
last I'll know the secret. No matter what it is, I won't
break down in front of him. Ill tell him it's all right.
That I know how these things can happen.

"I've made a deal, Tony," my father said. "That is,
I think I've made a deal."

So it's a deal, I thought He's sold out to protect us.
That's why my mother's excited.

"Are you listening. Tony?" my father asked.

"Sure Pop."

"Well, I'll know more tomorrow when the lawyers
talk."

"What lawyers?'*

"Sam Ranken, my lawyer, has to meet with the law-
yer for J. W. Fullerbach Electronics," my father said.

I asked my mother, "What's he talking about?"

*Tony . .. Tony ..."

Here she goes again, I thought.

"Your father's a genius! An absolute genius! Did
you know that, Tony?'* She gave my father a juicy kiss
and kept talking. "I always knew it ... deep down in-
side I always knew!"

My father? A genius? What's she talking about now?
My father's regular. "I don't get it," I said.

16

"Well, Tony . . ." my father began, loosening his tie.
**0ne of my ideas about electrical cartridges . . . one
of the things I've been working on downstairs . . ."

I interrupted. "You know I don't understand that

stuff, Pop."

"So listen! Maybe this time you'll understand."

"Okay ... I'm listening," I said.

My father told me how he took his idea to Mr. J. W.
Fullerbach. And how he had to see two assistant secre-
taries, three regular secretaries and a vice-president be-
fore he got to see J. W. Fullerbach himself. But it was
worth it because Mr. Fullerbach likes the electrical
cartridges—and my father—and my father's ideas—
and he wants all three.

•*You*re going to work for him?" I asked.

**WeTl see," my father said.

**You*re quitting your job with Mr. Dalto?"

•*We'U sec."

"Oh."

"This means money. Tony," my father said. "It
means Ralph and Angie won't have to worry. Can
you understand that?"

"Sure Pop. Sure I understand." I put my head on
the pillow. My mother turned out the light and kissed
me on my forehead.

So my father's not a secret agent

He's not mixed up with the mob.

And he doesn't have cancer.

But what was he talking about? One of his inven-
tions? He really invented something that somebody
wants? Is he a genius? And if he is how come it took
BO long to find out?

My father took the bus to New York every morning
lor the next week. His regular boss, Mr. Dalto, called
ffl the afternoon to find out how Pop was feeling. That's

17

how I knew my father had reported in sick. I didn't give
him away though. I said, "He's getting better, Mr.
Dalto. Thank you for calling."

At the end of the week, when Pop came home from
New York, he picked me up and swung me around.
Now that's something he never does anymore. I'm much
too big.

So I yelled, "Hey, put me down!"

Then my father picked up my mother and swung
her around, then my grandmother and Angie but not
Ralph. Ralph is bigger than my father. While he was
swinging us all around like that he laughed and yelled,
"We're going to be rich .. . rich!"

My mother hollered, "Vie! Calm down. You're no
kid. Think of your heart!"

So Pop made us all sit down on the couch while he
stood up in front of us and told us about his deal.

J. W. Fullerbach Electronics is going to manufacture
my father's electrical cartridges. And my father is going
to manage the plant that's going to do the manufactur-
ing.

"It's one of the Fullerbach plants in Queens," my
father said. "But now, thanks to Sam Ranken, it's go-
ing to be called the Fullerbach-MigIione Bngineering
Corporation."

My mother tried that out for size. "FulIerbach-Mig-
lione . . . Fullerbach-MigIione . . ."

And I thought, Fullerbach—Miglione?

"I get stock in Fullerbach Electronics, with options,
of course . . ." my father said, doing a little dance. "I
tell you . . . we are going to be rich!"

I don't know anybody rich. Everybody I know is just
like me. I wonder what rich is like. It probably means
that Ralph and Angie can have a baby every year.

"Angie, let me kiss you!" my father said. "If it
wasn't for that baby you and Ralph are expecting, I'd

18

never have had the guts to try out my electrical car-
tridges on anybody."

"Say, Pop," I said. "How're you going to get from
Jersey City to Queens every day?" That was the part of
it I understood.

"I'm not going to, Tony," my father said.

"You're not?"

"Nope."

"Well then, what?" I asked.

*Tm going to get from Rosemont to Queens."

"What's Rosemont?" I asked.

"It's a town in Long Island."

You're going to live there?"

"We're going to live there!" my father said.

**We are?" I asked.
"That's right!"
"All of us?"
"All of us!"

Goodbye Jersey City, I thought
Goodbye basketball at the Y.
Goodbye Little Joe and Big Joe.
Goodbye Frankie and Billy.
Goodbye Jersey Journal paper route.

"What's the matter, Tony?" my mother asked.

*The Kid's excited," Ralph said. "Can't you see
... the Kid's just so excited!"

"And why not?" my mother asked. "How many kids
have a genius for a father!"

I don't cry anymore. I'm too old for that baby stuff,
which is why I ran for the bathroom and locked
myself in. I cried really quiet. Not like Angie who does
it so loud everybody knows.

19

Then again,
maybe I won't

We all finished the school year in Jersey City but it
wasn't the same for me. Because when the guys talked
about Jefferson Junior I knew I wouldn't be there. I
didn't tell them we might be moving or about my
father's new Job. I pretended everything was just fine.
Then Pop announced that we had a new house. In

Rosemont, just like he promised.

On Sunday afternoon we went for a ride to Long
Island. On the way my father said, "You know, Tony,
Mr. Fullerbach made all the arrangements for our new

house."

"I know," I said.

"He says Rosemont's a nice place to live."

"I know. You already told me."

"And what a coincidence that Father Pissaro's cousin
should be a priest there," my mother said.

We just found out about Father Pissaro's cousin this
morning. After church. Pop told him we were moving
to Rosemont and he told us about his cousin. So when
Pop said we were going there this afternoon. Father
Pissaro said he'd call his cousin and we could stop by

and say hello.

"I'm telling you. Tony, this family's getting lucky,"

Pop said. "I can feel it!"

It doesn't make me feel lucky to know that Father
Pissaro's cousin is a priest in Rosemont. It's not that I

20

don't like him. It's just that I don't care one way or
the other about his family. I'd feel luckier if my father
told me Willis Reed or Rick Barry lives there.

Pop looked over at me. "Well, what do you say,
Tony? Are we getting lucky?"

A passing car tooted its horn at us then. "Vie!" my
mother shouted. "Keep your eyes on the road."

"Who's driving?" my father asked. "You or me?"

"You . . . you . . ." Mom told him. "All I'm saying
is just be careful."
. "I'm always careful! Right, Tony?"

"Right, Pop."

We have the same conversation every time we go
someplace in the truck. My father looks at whoever he's
talking to, my mother yells, "Be careful!" and my father
tells her he's always careful. Usually this happens once
going and at least once coming home.

In an hour and a half we got to Rosemont. Pop
drove us all around. Rosemont is really something! I
think I'd be excited about moving there if only I could
take my friends with me.

My father and mother kept smiling at each other.
"Our dream come true, Carmella," Pop said.

"Oh Vie ... I love it!" my mother told him, squeez-
ing bis arm.

Our new house is a big white one with a round drive-
way right up to the front door. All I could think of
was, who's going to cut all that grass? So I said, "How
much land do we have. Pop?"

And my father said, "Just about an acre.'*

"That's a lot of grass."

"And look how green it is," my mother said.

"I guess the gardener takes good care of it," Pop
told her. "And Mr. Fullerbach arranged for the same
man to work for us."

Whew—that's a relief. For a minute I thought I'd get

21

stuck cutting it. And if I had to cut all that grass I'd
never have time for basketball. That reminds me—now
the guys will find out the truth. That I'm moving away.
And I feel kind of bad because our team will break up.
How can you play with only four guys on a side?

We couldn't go inside our new house because peo-
ple are still living there. My father said we should be
able to move by July 20th. That means I'll have my
thirteenth birthday in Rosemont. I wonder what I'll
get?

We drove up and down our street a few more times
and then went to visit Father Pissaro's cousin. His
church is called Saint Joseph's and it's smaller than our
church in Jersey City, but a lot more modem. It's made
out of brown bricks and the front doors are all glass.
The cross doesn't sit on top of the church. It's built
right into the front and goes straight up past the roof.
There are a lot of tall trees around it and a parking
area right behind. My father pulled the truck in there
and we got out.

My mother said, "Wait just a minute. Vie. I want to
fix my hair."

When she was done we walked around to the front
of the church and went inside. It was very quiet. Ser-
vices were over. The priest was expecting us. He came
out to greet us right away. He and my father shook
hands.

"I'm happy to meet you, Mr. Miglione. My cousin
called to say you'd be here this afternoon. Welcome to
Rosemont."

"Thank you. Father," Pop said. "I'd like you to meet
my wife and my youngest son. Tony."

"Mrs. Miglione ... I know you're going to enjoy
living in Rosemont."

"Thank you. Father," my mother said.

22

Then he looked at me. "Well, Tony . .. how old are
you ... about twelve?"

"Almost thirteen," I said.

"In junior high?"

"Yes, Fm starting in September."

"He would be going into eighth grade. Father," Mom
said, "but he had pneumonia when he was five and the
doctor told us not to rush him into school. So he started
a year late."

My mother's always explaining why I'm a little older
than the other kids in my class. K you ask me she's wor-
ried that people will think I stayed back. I wish she'd
stop explaining. I don't think anybody cares.

"We have an active Junior Youth Group here. Tony,"
Father Pissaro said. "I think you'll like our activities.
You can join when school starts."

**Thank you," I said. I felt funny about calling him
Father Pissaro. He doesn't look like his cousin. He's
younger and rounder and he has more hair. To keep
tiungs straight in my mind I decided to name him
Father Pissaro the Second.

On the way back to Jersey City my father told us
lhat J. W. Fullerbach lives on Long Island too, but
much farther out. His chauffeur drives him to work
everyday.

"Is that how it's going to be for us?" I asked.

"Don't be silly. Tony. We're going to be the same
as always. Only we'll have a nice house and a new car,"
my father said.

"We're buying a car?" I asked.

"Mr. Fullerbach will lease one for us. He does that
for all his executives." My father said executives really
slow so I wouldn't miss it

•'What kind?" I asked.
"What kind of what?"

23

"Car. What kind of car will we get?"
"Whatever Mr. Fullerbach decides," my father said.

I found out the next week. It's a dark green hardtop
with stereo speakers. The inside smells like new shoes.

Big Joe, Little Joe, Billy and Frankie came over to
see it right away. I let them sit in it and they were really

impressed. Nobody we know has a hardtop with stereo
speakers.

Frankie asked me could he take over my paper route

since I was leaving town. I told him sure. I'd fix it with
my boss.

"My father says your father hit it big at the races,"

Big Joe said. "That's how come you got the car and
all."

"That's not how come," I said. "He invented some-
thing." How could Big Joe's father spread a story like
that!

"Yeah? What'd he invent?" Little Joe asked.
"Some electrical cartridges," I told him.
"What's that?" Billy asked.

"It has to do with using lamps in the middle of a
room. This way you don't have to plug anything in and

you don't need a cord. You just attach an electrical car-
tridge."

"You mean it's a kind of battery^"

"No, not exactly." I hated to admit I didn't really
understand it myself.

"Never mind any electrical cartridges," Billy said.
"My father says your father's hooked up with the mob.
They bought him the car."

"That's a lie!" I yelled. I couldn't believe these guys.
I always thought we were great friends. So why were
they carrying on like idiots! "The car is part of the deal.
So's the new house," I explained. "My father's got a
good lawyer. He arranged it. A good lawyer's pretty

24

imppttaflt when you're making a deal," I said, like I
fcnew all about it.

,^ff your father's so smart how come he never in-
vested anything before?" Big Joe asked.

•^•^SSe did," I told him. "But he didn't try to sell any
'ctjtSs inventions."

'^^So how come he did now?" Little Joe asked.
.'^^Secause Angle's going to have a kid and we need
fCHae money." I got out of the car and they followed
:||^ I pretended not to care about what they were say-
'iSli ^ t0^ D^^ tne f^ys just feel bad because I'm
'•ilaiElviflg away. Only Frankie was the same. He told me
nro*<l still be great friends and he'd visit me and I'd visit
trim and all that.

^ That night while I was getting ready for bed, Ralph
Cjjame into my room and said, "Guess what. Kid?"

-"^What?"

; *%(e and Angie are moving to Long Island too."

rr: *To Rosemont. . . with us?"
"'Ralph laughed a little. "We'd love to live in Rose-
'^bnt. Kid, but who can afford it? We got a little apart-
';3B^tt in Queens. It's a nice neighborhood with plenty
^1 young people."
. .""Isn't that pretty far from Jefferson Junior?" I

•i&sM.

"I won't be teaching at Jefferson Junior next year."
: "You quit?"

*Tve applied for a teaching job in Queens. No point
ICging around Jersey City if the whole family's going
> Long Island. Besides, Pop wants to sell this house
id it's time for me and Angie to be on our own."

"Oh." I finished buttoning my pajamas and made a
ill out of my dirty clothes.

**Hey Kid . .. aren*t you glad? Now we'll still be able
»see each other all the time."
"Sure I'm glad," I said. I didn't tell Ralph I thought

he and Angie would stay in Jersey City and I'd come
visit them every weekend and maybe play a little bas-
ketball at the Y.

We moved on July 20th, just like Pop said. The
funny thing about moving was, we didn't even need a
moving van. And that was what I was looking forward
to most. One of those big orange trucks parked outside
our house with a dozen men carrying out all our stuff.
The reason we didn't need a moving van was we
weren't taking anything old with us, except Grandma's
pots and pans and my Jefferson Junior High wall pen-
nant. My mother didnt want me to take it.

"It's old," she said. "What do you need it for?'*

"I like it," I told her. "I want to hang it above my
bed."

"You'll get a new one . . . from Rosemont Junior
High."

"I want this one anyway. It used to be ..." I almost
said, "Vinme's." But I caught myself in time and said,
"Ralph's." We never talk about Vimiie. Every time
somebody mentions his name Mom starts to cry.

"Oh, all right. If it means so much to you, take it,"
she said.

Frankie came over to say goodbye again. He told me
he got my paper route and I warned him about Mrs.
Gorsky. "You've got to put her paper under the door-
mat or she'll call the boss and report you."

"Okay," Frankie said. "I'll remember.*' Then he
reached into his pocket and came up with a coin. "This
is for you, Tony," he said, handing it to me.

"Thanks," I said, taking it

"It's from England. It's worth about a dollar."

*Thanks a lot, Frankie. It's really interesting." I
wished I had something for him too. I was still holding
my Jefferson Junior wall pennant I unfolded it. "I was

26

hoping you'd come over this morning because I wanted
t&^give you this." I. handed it to Frankie.

"Hey . . . thanks a lot, Tony. That's really nice."

"It used to be Vmnie's."

, "No kidding! That's really something. I didn't know
V^nme went to Jefferson Junior."
11 ^eah ... he did."
' "I'll hang it over my bed.'*

."That's where I had it"
; -Yeah ... I know."

- My mother called me then. "Tony . . . hurry up ...
'y^e ready to go."
"l "Well... see you, Frankie."

"Yeah ... see you. Tony."

A few trips in the green hardtop—a few more in the
o)4 truck—and Goodbye Jersey City . . . Hello Rose"
mont'

, 'Everything in our Rosemont house is new except the
(syrpeting. The old owners left it in as part of the deal.
|^j8 yellow and it's so thick you can lose your shoes in it.
My father says my mother bought out Newark, Jersey
C®y and half of New York fixing up the house. But he
doesn't mind. He wants her to enjoy herself now that he
C6B, afford it.

I have my own room with my own closet and also
TOy own bathroom, which my mother says I'm sup-
posed to keep neat. Grandma has her own bathroom
and so do my mother and father. All of these are up-
stairs. Downstairs I counted two more, which makes a
grand total of five bathrooms in one house- In Jersey
City we had one. If anybody had an emergency and the
bathroom was in use we always ran up to Ralph and
Angle's.

My closet has a light in it. I found this out when I
Opened the closet door. The light went on automatically.
When you shut the door it goes out. You don't even

^                                           27

have to bother touching a switch or anything. I spent
about ten minutes just opening and closing my closet
door.

My bedroom is at the opposite side of the house from
my mother and father's. Grandma's is in the middle. I
have three windows in my room. Two overlook the
backyard and one overlooks the side by the garage. .1
think the reason we have this circular driveway is so
you won't get tired walking from the garage to the
front door. .

From my two back windows I can see my next-door
neighbor's yard. It has a big wooden fence all around
it. The kind you can't see through at all if you're on the
ground. But from my room I can see right over it.
That's how I know we might really be rich and my fa-
ther isn't kidding around. They have a swimming pool!
It's rectangular with a statue at one end. There's a
diving board and everything!

The thing is, every time I think about us being rich
I get scared. I know it's not going to last. I think the
money will run out by January. My father used to kid
around about how if he won the state lottery the money
would probably last five months. It's not that 111 mind
moving back to Jersey City. It's just that I'll hate to face
the guys. Big Joe will probably laugh and tell me he
knew it all the time. And then there's Mom and Pop.
They'll really be disappointed. They're so excited about
living in Rosemont. But there's nothing I can do about
it.

Grandma spent the first few days in Rosemont in the
kitchen. She opened every cabinet a million times and
wrote my mother a whole pad full of notes. Mostly
about the stove and oven which she doesn't like be-
cause they're electric instead of gas.

My mother kept telling Grandma what a wonderful

28

kitchen it is ... so modem! And how easy it will be for
her to cook now. My grandmother kept shaking her
head. So my mother talked louder. She always does that
when they disagree. She talks loud, as if Grandma's
deaf. Only Grandma's hearing is fine and talking loud
doesn't do any good at all.

I found out what happens to garbage in Rosemont.
Number one is, we have an automatic disposal built into
the sink. All the food scraps go down there and get
ground up. Number two is, we have three garbage cans
in the ground by the kitchen door. And twice a week
the garbage truck comes by and the cans get emptied.
Nobody puts their stuff down at the curb.

The first few mornings we lived there I got up early
and rushed outside. So did Grandma. But not for the
same reason as me. She walked to Saint Joseph's every
day. I wanted to make some friends before school
started. That way I won't really be a new kid. I have a
whole month to meet the Rosemont guys. That should
be plenty of time. I hung around the front of our house
Waiting for somebody to notice me. It didn't take me
long to find out that my new neighborhood is dead in
/(he summer. I didn't see any kids- Not even little ones.
.,' On my fourth Rosemont morning I met Mrs. Hoober,
fsom the swimming-pool house. I was walking up and
^."down my driveway counting stones when I saw her
:open her garage door. I watched her, hoping she would
notice me. She did.

"Oh hello," she said. "You new?"

"Yes."

"I'm Mrs. Hoober."

When she said that I noticed she was carrying a pair
of brown and white shoes, with spikes.

"What's your name?" she asked me.

*Tm Tony Miglione.'*

"Well, hi Tony." She got into her car and backed it

29

out of the garage. Then she rolled down the window
and told me she was on her way to play golf at the
country club.

My mother met her later that afternoon and that
night she told my father that our next-door neighbor is
Diane Hoober and that Mr. Hoober is Vice-President
of Amilard Drugs. And aren't we lucky to be rubbing
shoulders with such people?

Then my mother told me that the reason I haven't
made any friends in four whole days of looking around
is because in Rosemont practically all the kids go away
to camp in the summer. And that Mrs. Hoober has
two kids who'll be home the end of August. Mrs. Hoo-
ber also told Mom that some families have places at the
beach and stay away from June to September.

Back in Jersey City we'd have thought you were
pretty lucky to get to spend the summer is a place
like Rosemont. . . never mind camp and the beach!

A week later I met Mrs. Hoober again. She was get-
ting out of her car with a lot of packages. So I ran

over and said, "Want some help?"

She handed me a big box and said, "Thanks, Tony."
I carried it to her front door and then she took it

from me. "I see you're having a lot of work done on

your house."

"Us?" I asked. "No, we're not having anything done.
It's perfect the way it is."

"Well, that's funny. There's a truck parked in your
driveway all the time."

"Oh ... that's my father's (ruck. Sometimes he drives
it to work when my mother needs the car."

"It belongs to your father?"

"Sure. It even has his name on the door."

"Oh ... well, thanks for helping me. Tony."

"That's okay. Bye Mrs. Hoober."

30

That night after supper I said, "You know what,
Pop? Mrs. Hoober thought we were having a lot of
work done on our house just because she saw your truck
in the driveway."

My mother looked at my father. "She asked you
about the truck?" Mom said.

"No. I told her it was Pop's. She didn't ask me any-
thing."

The next day, my father came home from work driv-
ing a new Ford instead of the old truck. He laughed
and said, "What do I need with a truck now?"

My mother said, "I'm glad you decided that way. Vie.
We don't want to start off on the wrong foot here."

Did he get rid of the truck just because Mrs. Hoober
thought we were having some work done? That's crazy!

"You know. Tony . . . you can't get anywhere with-
out a car when you live out here," Pop said. "Your
mother can't even get a quart of milk without driving a
couple of miles. And the truck isn't so good on the
highway. I'll be much more comfortable now."

Sometimes I get the feeling my father can read my
mind.

Along with the new car Pop brought home a regula-
tion basketball net and professional basketball. He put
up the basket on the garage and said I should keep in
practice because he expects great things from me. As a
basketball player or what? I wondered.

I spent the next few days shooting baskets until my
mother told me the noise was making her head hurt and
that thump, thump, thump all the day long was too
much for anybody's nerves. Would I please try to find
something else to do a few hours a day, she asked.

So I watched the Hoobers' swimming pool from my
window. Nobody ever used it. What a waste! Life in
Rosemont was not exactly what you would call exciting.

*   *   *

31

On August 5th I was thirteen years old. I knew we
were having roast beef for dinner and that Grandma
baked me a birthday cake. But nobody asked me what
I wanted. So I figured our new house is supposed to be
a kind of birthday present. And anyway, I just got my
basketball equipment. Still, a birthday's a birthday! In
Jersey City I always got something. Usually a shirt, a
game and $5.00 to spend any way I wanted. But if my
family wasn't going to mention my thirteenth birthday
.. . well, neither was I. I'd pretend to be happy without
any presents.

That afternoon my father came home from the plant
early. He hustled me off with him in the green hardtop.
He drove past the Miracle Mile Shopping Center to the
middle of another town called Belmart.

"I have a surprise for you, Tony," my father said,
backing the car into a space.

"What?" I asked. "Tell me."

"If I tell you it's not a surprise." Pop laughed.
"You'll see soon enough anyway. Come on."

I jumped out of the car and followed my father.

The surprise turned out to be a brand-new red ten-
speed Schwinn. Wow! This was my best birthday ever!

After that I rode my bike around every day. I ex-
plored every street in Rosemont. I knew all the stores
downtown. I found my junior high. I found the football
field. I found the park. I wished it was September.

32

Then again,
maybe I won't

Finally Joel Hoober came home from camp. We met
ri^lit away. It was after supper and my mother was do-
ing the dishes while Grandma sat at the kitchen table
fdieNng pistachio nuts. I was eating them as fast as she
was shelling them. My father was dozing in the other
room- He doesn't have a basement workshop in our
new house. I guess he doesn't need one now that his
hobby is his business. When the doorbell rang my
mother asked me to get it.

"Tm Joel Hoober," this boy said, when I opened the
front door. He was my height but thinner, with very
ligfat hair and an awful lot of it. When mine looks like
that my mother tells me it's time to go see the barber.

**Are you Tony?" he asked.

^ nodded because I had a mouthful of nuts. When I
finijthed chewing and swallowed them I said, "Come on
in.*'

My mother came out of the kitchen drying her hands
OB her apron.
. "Mom, this is Joel Hoober," I said.

loel offered his hand to my mother. "How do you do,
Mrs. Miglione. I'm happy to meet you." Joel pro-
Bounced our name right. Not everybody does. A lot of
people say Miglion-ie. But the "e" on the end is




ie doorbell woke up my father. He padded into the

33

hallway in his stocking feet. This time when Joel shook
hands he said, "How do you do, sir. Glad to meet you."

I could tell right away that my mother and father
were impressed. None of my friends in Jersey City say
sir. And we don't shake hands every time we say hello
to somebody. Are all the guys in Rosemont like this?
I hope not. H they are I may not make any friends here.
I wish Frankie lived next door instead of this creep.

"Well, let's not stand here in the hall," my mother
said to Joel. "Come in ... come in. . . .'*

Now why did she have to go and do that? Doesn't she
think I can pick my own friends?

Joel followed my mother into the kitchen. "You want
some pistachio nuts?" she asked him.

"No thanks," Joel said. He spotted my grandmother.
I could tell Grandma was studying him because she
looked up and squinted. Joel offered his hand but
Grandma didn't bother to shake it. He started his line
about how happy he was to meet her and Grandma
laughed, which is really unusual for her. When she
laughs her mouth opens but no sound comes out.

"My grandmother can't talk," I told him. "She has no
larynx."

Joel gave me a funny look but he didn't say anything.
We walked back into the front hall.

"Do you play chess?" he asked.

"No, do you?"

"Yeah- It's a good game. Maybe I'll teach you."

"Okay," I said, but I didn't mean it.

Then he said, "Can you come over for a swim to-
morrow?"

"Yeah ... I'd really like that." I didn't tell him I'd
been watching his pool most of the summer wishing
somebody would invite me over to use it.

Before he left, Joel shook hands with my father

34

again. "Glad to have met you, sir," he said. And then
to me, "See you tomorrow. Tony."

"Okay," I said, closing the door behind him. I'd
already learned that when the air conditioning's on
you've got to keep all the doors and windows closed.

"What a nice boy!" my mother said.

"Some manners!" my father added.

I wonder how long Joel would last in Jersey City.
About a week, I figure ... if he was lucky!

I went to the Hoobers' right after lunch the next day.
The pool was heated. It was cooler than a bathtub but
not really cold. I was mighty glad I know how to
swim. I don't do anything fancy and I don't dive, but
I do jump off the board and in Hoobers' pool I could
swim back and forth twice before running out of breath.

Joel had on this grubby red bathing suit and he has
about the knobbiest knees I've ever seen. I felt funny
in the new suit my mother bought me this morning. I
should have worn my old one.

The chess board was set up on a round umbrella
table. Joel seemed really anxious to teach me how to
play. I only let him because, after all, it was his swim-
ming pool.

After I was there almost an hour the back door
slammed and Joel's sister Lisa came out. She was wear-
ing a bikini and was very suntanned which made her
hair look even lighter than Joel's. All I could think of
was Wow! She was the best looking girl I've ever seen
in person anywhere. She has curves all over. I turned
away from the chess board so I could keep watching
her.

Lisa climbed onto the diving board and did a perfect
swan dive into the water. After four iaps of the crawl
she stuck her head up and spit out some water.

"Hey Joel." she called. "Who's your friend? He's cute.

35

Too bad he's not a little older!" Then she laughed and
started to swim again.

I could feel the red climb from the back of my neck
where it started, to my ears and then my face. Why do
girls always say cute? That's such a dumb word. It
makes me think of rabbits.

The next time Lisa came up from under the water

Joel yelled, "This is Tony Miglione from next door."
"Hi..." I called.

But she didn't hear because she was underwater
again. I sat back in a lounge chair and watched Lisa
swim. She did laps—back and forth, back and forth.

Sidestroke, backstroke, butterfly—1 got dizzy just
watching.

"She's sixteen/' Joel said.
I nodded.

"You want a good laugh? Some day I'll show you her
diary. I know where she keeps it."

I looked away from Lisa. "No kidding!"
"Yeah," Joel said. "It's great."

Then I remembered how I promised my mother that
I would be polite to Mrs. Hoober. That I would shake

hands and everything, just like Joel. "Is your mother
home?" I asked.

"Nah ... my mother's never home. She plays golf
every day unless it rains. Then she shops or plays cards.
When she's not on vacation, that is."

I wondered if that's what my mother was going to

do.

"Hey, you want something to eat?" Joel asked.
-Okay."

Joel shouted at the house. "Millicent. . . hey Milli-
cent! We're hungry."

"Who's Miiliceat?" I asked.

"The maid. Only her name isn't really Millicent. She's
got some Spanish name that my mother can't pronounce

36

so when she came to work for us my mother renamed
her. She didn't even speak English then. She taught me
and Lisa to curse in Spanish."

"No kidding!" Maybe there's hope for me and Joel
after all.

, "Hey Millicent!" Joel called again.

"What you want?" a voice answered from inside the
house.

"You got any cake?"
**I got. You come get."
"I can't. I'm all wet," Joel hollered.
"Okay. I bring. But no crumbs by pool or your fa-
ther km me."

"She's scared of my father," Joel said. "A lot of
people are. Not me of course. I know bow to handle
him. It's easy. Just stay out of his way."

Later, as I sat in my lounge chair eating chocolate
cake, drinking cold milk and watching Lisa, I thought

—this is really the life!

I spent most of Labor Day weekend at the Hoobers'
\ pool. I learned to play a simple ^ame of chess. Joel said
. he'd teach me more next time. I saw Mr. Hoober once.

•Lisa called him George. She was swimming around
when Mr. Hoober came out the back door. She called,
' -Hi George!"

Joel poked me and smiled with half of his mouth.
I wondered how he did that I mean when he smiles
regular a whole row of teeth shows. But this way only
one side of his lip goes up. He must have developed
it from watching old gangster movies on TV.

Mr. Hoober said, tt! don't like the George business,
Lisa. That will be enough. Do you hear me?"

Lisa dove under the water and stood on her hands.
I watched her wiggle her toes around.

I found out that Mr. Hoober plays golf twice on
Sundays and holidays. Once in the morning with tae

men and once in the afternoon with his wife. And every
Sunday night the Hoober family eats supper at the

country club. So when Joel and Lisa had to get dressed
to go out I went home.

My mother put me through the third degree. Ques-
tions—questions—questions. She's driving me nuts!
She's a lot more interested in the Hoobers than she is
in my father's new job. I can get her really mad if I
want to. When she asks me something I answer, "I

don't know." I've been saying that all weekend. She's
about ready to explode.

Ralph and Angie were already at the house for sup-
per. I asked Ralph was he still going to be the world's
greatest teacher and he said, "Sure Kid." But he didn't
sound so enthusiastic. All he talked about was my fa-
ther's electrical cartridges, which is pretty funny for a
guy who isn't scientific. .

The night before school started me and Joel made
arrangements to ride our bikes together every day.

"Your bike is really neat," he told me.

"It's just like yours," I said.
"Yeah, but mine's a year older."
"Well, it's stnl the same," I said.
"Yeah ... I guess so."
"See you in the morning."

"Quarter after eight. Don't forget," Joel said as he
walked home.

I told my mother that me and Joel were going to
ride to school together.

"I'm so glad you and Joel made friends," she said.
"He's such a nice boy. With a face like an angel's!"

I don't know what angels realty look like but I doubt
if it's like Joel. Lisa maybe, but not Joel.

I'm kind of glad me and Joel aren't in the same
homeroom. This way I can get to make some other

38

friends. But there's one thing that bothers me. When
you have somebody your age living next door either
you wind up great buddies or you don't talk at all. I'm
still not sure how it's going to turn out with us.

Junior high isn't as bad as I thought it might be.
Once you get used to those bells ringing all the time and
going to different rooms for different subjects it's pretty
good. You feel a lot older than sixth grade.

Two guys from my homeroom are in all my other
classes—Marty Endo and Scott Gold. The three of us
stick together. That way if we have trouble finding the
right classrooms we look stupid as a group instead of
three individual stupids.

Joel turned up in my English class, which is the pe-
riod right before lunch. When the bell rang we went
to the cafeteria together. The cafeteria is really neat.

Joel brought his lunch from home. He carried it
around with him in a brown bag. But he bought his
milk and an apple. I bought the whole school lunch.
So did Marty Endo and Scott Gold.

During the first week of school I found out why Joel
brings his lunch instead of buying it. He likes some
strange sandwiches. Salami, tomato and mayonnaise
is his favorite. His second favorite is onion slices on
buttered whole wheat bread. Either way you have to
keep a safe distance from him after lunch. I think he
enjoys breathing hard after he eats—especially on the
girls.

One thing I don't like about the cafeteria is the cash-
iers. They're all ninth graders. You can tell by the way
they look and by the way they ignore the seventh grad-
ers. To an eighth grader the cashier might say, "Hi."
But to a seventh grader, nothing! Now that's a real
shock after being in sixth grade where you're the boss
of the whole school. Next year I plan to treat the new
seventh graders the same way.

*   *   *

I Joined the Junior Youth Group at church. It meets
every Tuesday night from seven to nine. You have to
be in seventh or eighth grade to belong. Marty Endo
joined too. And a skinny girl named Corky from our
homeroom. Father Pissaro the Second stopped in dur-
ing our first meeting to ask how we were getting along.
We ail said, "Fine, Father." Then he smiled and left.

Our Youth Group leader is Ted Gibbons. He's a
sophomore at Long Island Community College. He's
really tall, wears glasses, and it looks like he's growing
a moustache. When he wants our attention he waves his
anus around and boilers, "Simmer down!" Since there
are twenty-four of us it takes a long time to get quiet.
Ted told us about some of the things we'll be doing this

year. The one I like best is, we're going to have our
own basketball team.

Corky raised her hand and asked if she could start a

cheerleaders club to go along with the basketball team.
Ted said, "Sure."

I think Corky looked at me and smiled then. I didn't
smile back. I can't stand skinny girls.

AH in all me and Marty Endo agreed that Junior
Youth Group seems pretty good. Marty's a nice guy.
He reminds me of Frankie, only he's really smart in
school. He asked me to go to the movies with him next
weekend. He said maybe Scott Gold and Joel can
come too. I told him that sounded great. Then I remem-
bered I didn't have any spending money. Mom hands
me enough for lunch and Ralph brings me all my school
supplies, but there's nothing left for extras. In Jersey
City I used to keep a little of my paper route money
so I never had to ask Pop for a handout. That's what

got me thinking maybe J should get a paper route in
RosemonL

40

So on Sunday night I said, "I think I'll try to get a
new paper route."

"What are you talking about?" Mom asked. "You're
not getting any paper route!"

"Why not? I've got a great bike."

"That's crazy," Mom said. "Vie . . . tell him that's
crazy."

"Do you miss your old job. Tony?" Pop asked. "Is
that it?"

"Not exactly," I said. "But I could use the money."
"Vie . . . Tony needs an allowance," my mother

said. "I don't know why I never thought about it."
"How much do you need?" Pop asked.
"Whatever Joel gets," my mother said. "How much,

Tony?"

"I don't know what he gets," I told her.

"Well, find out," she said. "You should get the same.**

"How's ten bucks?" Pop asked.

"You mean a week?" I said.

"Can you manage on that. Tony?" Mom asked.

I laughed. "Well, yeah . . . sure! That's plenty."

"Good," Pop said. "You buy your lunch out of that,
but if you need more you come to me. That's what I'm
here for."

"Thanks, Pop."

"And don't let me hear you talking about a paper
route anymore," my mother added,

Wow! Ten bucks a week. I wonder what Frankie
would say?

Every morning when we get to school me and Joel
park our bikes in this huge rack. We all have our own
locks and keys. I wear my key around my neck on a
silver chain so I won't lose it. To tell the truth I don't
know how I would manage in Rosemont without my
ten-speed bike.

After school on most days I shoot baskets while Joel
sits on the grass watching me. He has a stack of paper-
back books he's working on. What he does is underline
certain passages and then paperclip those pages so it's
easy to find what he's looking for. He showed me a
couple of them one day. They're pretty good. Our gym
teacher told us if we start to think about those things
we should keep our mind on sports and that will help
a lot. He told us about wet dreams too, only he calls

them nocturnal emissions. I'm still not sure if I'll ever
have one.

When I read Joel's paperbacks I can feel myself get
hard. But other times when I'm not even thinking about
anything it goes up too. I don't know what to do about
that. I mean, if my brain is working right it's supposed
to control my whole body. But if I don't have any con-
trol over that part of me what good is my brain? It's
getting so I don't have anything to say about what goes
on. I think that part of me has a mind of its own.

Suppose it decides to go up in school and everybody
notices? Or at a Junior Youth Group meeting? What
will I do to get it down? I think from now on I'm going
to carry a raincoat with me every day. Then, if anything
happens I'll have something to pat over me in a hurry.

When football season started me and Joel rode our
bikes to the high school field every time there was a
home game. Lisa is a cheerleader. She wears red boots
and a white sweater with a big R on it. I like the way
her hair flops around when she's yelling cheers.

Sometimes she talks to us during halftime. It de-
pends on her mood. Other times you'd think we were
strangers. One day Lisa really put on the big sister act.
She hugged me and Joel together and told the rest of
the cheerleaders, "These are my favorite guys!" I knew
it was a big joke between her and her friends but I

42

didn't care. Because she was touching me and it felt
good.

Corky goes to every game too. She hangs around Lisa
a lot. Joel told me Lisa is teaching Corky how to be a
cheerleader. Corky ought to get Lisa to teach her some
other things too. Because Corky looks like a fifth
grader. You can't even tell if she's a boy or a girl un-
less she happens to be wearing a skirt, which is prac-
tically never. Her hair is cut short and she's really small.
She spends a lot of time giggling. I'll bet Lisa never
giggled in her whole life!

One afternoon on the way home from the game Joel
asked me if I'd go to the store with him. He needed
some notebook paper. I said, "Sure Joel."

We left our bikes up against the side of the store and
Joel went straight to the counter where the school sup-
plies were. He bought two packages of wide-ruled three-
hole looseleaf paper. He paid the saleslady and took the
bag she gave him.

"I'm done," he said. "You need anything?"

"No. I've got plenty. Ralph brought me a whole
bunch of supplies last week."

"Okay. Let's go."

We walked side by side to the front of the store. I
couldn't believe it when Joel grabbed three flashlight
batteries from a bin and shoved them into his pockets.
I saw him do it. He didn't look at me. He didn't even
look back to see if anybody in the store noticed. He just
kept walking with that funny lopsided smile on his face,
I was sure he was kidding around.

But when we got on our bikes and started for home
and he still didn't say anything I knew he wasn't kid-
ding. Should I say something? I wondered. Like uh - . .
"I saw you take those batteries, Joel. Who do you
think you're fooling!" Maybe I should have, but I
didn't.

We rode home without a word. When we got to my
driveway Joel said, "Why don't you sleep over tonight?
That'd be great. I'll show you Lisa's diary and every-
thing. And I've been working on some new books too—
real good ones. I'll even let you read them."

"I don't know, Joel," I said, very unfriendly.

"Come on. Tony."

"Maybe," I said.

Joel went to his house and I went to mine. I locked
myself up in my bathroom for about thirty minutes. My
stomach hurt bad.

Is taking three batteries worse than cheating in arith-
metic? Frankie used to cheat in arithmetic all the time
in Jersey City. I never reported him. And how about
the telephone booth at the Y? We all used to shake it
to make change come out. And when it did I always
helped myself like the other guys. Is taking three bat-
teries worse than that? Well, what if it is! What am I
supposed to do about it—call the police? I suppose I
could. I wouldn't have to give them my name or any-
thing. Or I could tell the man in the store about it. But
I don't want to. Really, what I want to do is get a
look at Lisa's diary.

If I tell on Joel we'll never be able to be friends.
Just when things are looking good and I'm feeling set-
tled. It would be bad news to have to start out all over
again.

So I told my mother I was going to sleep over at
Joel's.

"Who invited you?" Mom asked.

"Joel did."

"Is it all right with his mother?"

"How should I know?" Why do I have to get permis-
sion for every little thing I do? Isn't it enough to tell
her where I'm going? Why does she have to make such
a big thing out of it?

44

But she called Mrs. Hoober anyway. The last thing
I heard her say before she hung up was, "Well, I guess
it's okay if just the maid is home. After all, Vie and I
are right next door."

I went to Joel's after supper. I got there in time to
see his mother and father leave for a dance at the
country club and then to see Lisa leave with her date, a
senior from Rosemont High who looks like a monkey,
I wondered why she was wasting her time on him. I
wanted to shout, "Hey Lisa . .. this guy's a creep! Don't
go out with him. Stay home with us. You and Joel can
watch TV and I'll watch you. Please stay. Lisa. . . ."

But she didn't. She gave the monkey a big smile
when he helped her on with her coat. She left without
even saying goodbye.

Joel and I were on our own. He explained that Milli-
cent was closed up in her room where she has her own
TV. Then he checked his watch and said, "I have to
make a phone call. Come on.**

I followed him upstairs. He said, "I wish I had my
own phone, like Lisa. Then I wouldn't have to go into
my parents' bedroom all the time."

I have never seen a bedroom like Mr. and Mrs.
Hoober's. They have a round bed. It's hard to believe
anybody really sleeps on it. It's two steps up from the
rest of the room and I thought, if you fall out of bed
here you also fall down the stairs. I started to laugh.
Besides the bed being round there's a lamp hanging over
it. t£ Mr. Hoober sits up in bed does he whack his head
on it?

Joel jumped up the two steps and sat down on the
edge of the bed. He took the phone off the hook, and
dialed. He examined his fingernails while he waited for
someone to answer. "Hello," he finally said. "Is Denton
F. Buchanan in? Oh ... I'm sorry sir. I'll dial again."

45

I wondered who Denton F. Buchanan was.

Joel hung up and tried again. "Hello. May I please
speak to Denton F. Buchanan. What? Wrong number
. . . the second time? I'm terribly sorry sir."

He looked up at me and smiled as he dialed again.

"Hey, why don't you check the phone book, Joel," I
suggested.

He dismissed me with a wave of one hand. He got
his number. "Hello . . . Denton F. Buchanan please.
Yes, I'm sure this is the number he gave me sir. Yes ...
well, I do understand. But I have checked with infor-
mation sir. Certainly. I won't make the same mistake
again."

"Joel," I said. "Will you look it up? Who is he
anyway?"

"You'll see," Joel said. "This is my last phone call."

He dialed. "Hello," he said, disguising his voice. He
made it sound very deep, which isn't exactly easy the
way his voice changes around from high to low all the
time. "This is Denton F. Bucbanan calling. Have there
been any calls for me?"

Then he hung up and rolled around on the bed
laughing and holding his sides. "Isn't that the greatest!
That poor guy. He really thought I was serious at first."

More laughing and rolling around—now tears run-
ning down his face. "Who was he?" I asked.

"Who knows! I Just made up the number. I always
do that."

"You were fooling around?" I asked. "You don't
know any Denton F. Buchanan?"

"Of course I don't know any Denton F. Buchanan!
I don't know any Manfred T. Oliver either." Joel sat
up. "That's the other name I like to use. You've got to
try it. You've got to hear how funny it is at the other
end."

"Now?" I asked. I really didn't want to call anybody.

46

I think you can get into big trouble for fooling around
on the phone. But if I refuse Joel will call me chicken.

"You can't call now," he said. "I only make one call
a night. The next time you're over you can try it.
Okay?"

"Sure," I said. Whew—now he won't know I'm
chicken. "Listen, what about Lisa's diary?" I didn't
want to seem too anxious but after all, that was the
main reason I decided to accept Joel's invitation to
spend the night.

"Oh yeah. I promised, didn't I. Come on."

I followed Joel to the opposite end of the upstairs
hallway. Lisa's room is right next to Millicent's. Joel
held a finger over his lips as we tiptoed past her door.
Inside Lisa's room Joel snapped on a light and whis-
pered that he's not allowed in there. It's off-limits.

He shut the door. Lisa's bedroom is all pink and
white. Girly looking. Her room faces the side of my
house. I looked out her window and saw my room
across the way. My shades were up. The light from our
upstairs hallway made it easy to see everything. I'd
have to be a lot more careful about pulling down my
shades from now on. I wouldn't want Lisa to be able to
see me. I hope she doesn't know that's my room.

"Psst . . . give me a hand with this mattress," Joel
whispered. "She keeps it under here."

I held up the mattress while Joel searched. But all
he came up with was a note. It said:

too bad snooper
your sister's smarter than you think!!!

"How about that!" Joel said. "She found out and
moved it. Well, never mind. We'll find it. It's got to be

in here some place."

He started searching her dresser drawers, then went

47

to her desk, dressing table and finally to her closet. But
he couldn't find it anywhere. I could tell he was em-
barrassed because he promised he'd show it to me and
now he couldn't make good on his promise.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"Forget it," I told him. I didn't want him to think
I cared much.

Just as Joel was climbing back down from Lisa's top
closet shelf the door opened. It was Millicent. She
looked funny. She was wrapped in a plaid blanket and
her hair was up in curlers.

"What you doing?" she asked.

"Never mind," Joel said.

"What never mind! I gonna tell on you, Joel. You
no supposed to be in here. This time I gonna tell."

Joel shook his finger at her. "Will you listen to that!"
he said to me. "Is she a good one? You tell on me,
Millicent. You go ahead. Then I'll tell on you!" Joel
shouted.

"What you mean?" Millicent asked.

"You know," Joel said.

I didn't much like him having a fight with Millicent
in front of me. I don't think you're supposed to talk to
somebody who works for you like that.

"Oh . . . you give me hard time, Joel. But some day
God gonna punish you! You wait." Millicent crossed
herself and left. I heard her slam the door to her bed-
room.

Joel turned out Lisa's light and we went back to his
room. "How do you know she's not going to tell on
you?" I asked.

"She wouldn't dare!" Joel laughed. "She's scared of
me! I caught her frying on my mother's clothes one
night. If I tell my mother shell lose her job. And she
knows it!"

I'm beginning to change my mind about JoeL He's

48

not the kind of creep I thought he was when I first met
him. He might last longer than a week in Jersey City
after all. But the more I know about him the more I'm
not sure if I want to be his friend.

49

Then again,
maybe I won't

On October 19th Angie had a baby girl. My father was
disappointed. "A first baby and it's a girl! There hasn't
been a girl born first in my family for five generations!"

"So what?" my mother said. "A girl's just as good.
Anyway, I always wanted a daughter. Now I have a
granddaughter!"

They named the baby Vincenza, after my brother
Vinnie—just like Grandma planned. But everybody is
supposed to call her Vicki for short. Lucky for her—
who'd want to go through life with a name like Vin-
cenza?

When Angie came home from the hospital we all
went to Queens to visit the new baby. My mother said
she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in her
whole life. I thought the baby looked like a plucked
chicken, but I didn't say so.

Grandma stood over Vicki making funny faces but
all Vicki did was cry. Then the baby-nurse, Mrs. Butt-
field, told us we'd better not stay long because new
mothers and new babies shouldn't have too much com-
pany right away. She said this like she owned Vicki.

Mrs. Buttfield is a present from my mother to Angie.
My mother wants Angie to rest and not have to get up
at night with the baby. Privately, I renamed the nurse
The Butt. She looks about eighty and I know she
doesn't want anybody hanging around.

50

Ralph pranced through the apartment with a big
box of cigars. He even offered one to me.

"Go on Kid, take it. You're an uncle now."

"What are you, crazy?" my mother yelled at Ralph.
"He's thirteen years old. A cigar! You want him to
wind up in the hospital?"

My mother didn't have to worry. I wasn't about to
smoke one. Cigars stink!

All afternoon I kept thinking, I could be home
playing basketball instead of wasting my time in a
stuffy apartment in Queens. It's really funny, the way
everyone is so excited about a baby that looks like a
plucked chicken. Maybe Vicki will get better looking.
Then again, maybe she won't. Maybe she will always
look like that. I feel sorry for her. But why should I
worry? She's not my kid. Right?

When we got ready to go home I told Ralph and An-
gle that Vicki is really neat and very pretty too. That's
what everyone else was saying so I decided to be po-
lite about the whole thing. Sometimes it's better to tell
a little lie than to tell the truth and have everybody
hate you.

When Angie said goodbye she called me Uncle Tony
and she kissed my cheek. I only let her because she
just had a baby.

The next Sunday, when Mom and Pop got ready to
go to Queens I said, "I'm staying with Joel this after-
noon. We might go to the movies."

But the Sunday after that when I tried the same thing
Mom asked, "How do you think Ralph and Angie feel
that you don't want to see Vicki? Very bad, I'll tell you
that. And you're her only uncle too."

"Oh ... all right. I'll go with you today."

When we got there The Butt wanted to check my
hands before I even saw the baby. Clean hands and
iwmy noses are the big things in Mrs. Buttfield's life.

51

I was about to tell her I wasn't interested in touching
Vicki and that I was only looking to be polite.

But Ralph said he'd had enough of her and her
inspections. So The Butt packed her bags and left. This
made Angle cry for a long time and say she didn't know
how she was going to manage all by herself.

A week later my mother started the maid business at
home.

"I can't run this big house with no help, Vie. I want
to enjoy my granddaughter. I don't want to be stuck
here all day cleaning the place."

My father was behind his newspaper and I couldn't
tell if he was really listening until he said, "So get some
help, Carmella." He spoke without taking his cigar out
of his mouth.

"You mean it. Vie?" my mother asked.

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't say it if I didn't
mean it, would I?"

The next day my mother drove to an employment
agency and came home with our first maid. She was
from South America, her name was Gerta, and she
spoke only Spanish. I thought about Millicent and won-
dered if Gerta would teach me to curse m Spanish.

After five days my mother whispered to my father,
"If I look at her wrong she cries. I think she's very lone-
some. I hope she'll improve with experience."

My father said, "I'm sorry if she's lonesome. But I
can't wear my shirts with wrinkles down the front."

"I can't tell her. Vie. She'll cry."

"Then I'll tell her," my father said.

That was the end of Gerta.

The next week my mother came home with Vera.
She was from Haiti and spoke only French.

My father said, "Why can't you get one that talks
Italian?"

52

My mother said, "Oh Vie!"

But after a few days my mother complained that
Vera didn't like to get up in the mornings and my fa-
ther complained about the way the beds were made.

That was the end of Vera.

Pauline, LaBelle and Florie followed. Grandma took
care of them. Even though she can't talk she can just
look at you and you know what she's thinking. And
she wasn't thinking anything good about any of our
maids.

Then Maxine arrived. You could tell she was differ-
ent right away. First, because she spoke English, and
second, because she interviewed my mother instead of
my mother interviewing her. When she saw me she said,
"When I wash the floor nobody walks on it That in-
cludes you. Understand?"

My mother said, "Tony's a good boy. You won't
have any trouble with him."

"He'll stay out of my way?" Maxine asked.

I thought, who'd want to get in your way?

My mother put her arm around me. "Of course hell
stay out of your way. Won't you. Tony?"

"Sure, sure," I said. I wonder if she'll try on my
mother's clothes, Bke Millicent. I don't think so. She's
about a foot taller than my mother.

"Well . . ." Maxine said, running her finger along
the furniture, then inspecting it for dirt, "111 try it,"

My mother sighed with relief and later she told us
that Maxine has excellent references and we are going
to do everything possible to keep her happy. This in-
cluded all new towels for Maxine's bathroom. In her
favorite colors—purple and brown.

On Marine's third day she told my mother that she
had to be in charge of the kitchen. Not the old lady.

My mother said, "Oh dear! I just don't know about
that."

53

Maxine tapped her foot at my mother.

"You see," my mother explained, "Mama's always
done all the cooking."
Maxine glared.

My mother tried a nervous smile. "I suppose we
could arrange something. I mean, why should Mama
work so hard when she doesn't have to?"

I thought. Grandma's going to be furious when she
hears about this.

She was furious all right She stomped to her room,
slammed the door and refused to come out. My mother
banged on her door and called, "Please, Mama! You'll
take it easy for a change. You'll enjoy it ... I know
you will. Just let me explain."

But Grandma wouldn't open up. Maxine was in
charge now and Grandma knew it. There are times
when I'd like to throw something at my mother. How
can she let Maxine boss her around? Doesn't she care

about Grandma? Can't she see how she's hurt her feel-
ings?

The next night my father brought home a color TV
for Grandma's room. Lately, my mother and father
seem to think that presents can fix everything. And if
you ask me, they think more about Maxine than they
do about Grandma.

Bvery night during dinner my father says, "Deli-
cious, Maxine!" Of course Maxine stands over him
until he says it. After our meal my mother says,

"Thank you very much, Maxine." Like she's doing us
some kind of favor!

When Grandma did the cooking nobody paid much
attention to it. And it was better than Maxine's, I'll
tell you that. Maybe not as fancy looking, but better
tasting. Since Grandma won't eat anything that Maxine
cooks my mother fixes her meals separately. Usually
Grandma gets a broiled lamb chop for supper—on a

54

tray in her room. Grandma won't come downstairs any-
more. She never even goes to church.

One night 1 walked into the kitchen while Maxine
was cleaning up. I saw her throw away all the leftovers.

"Well, Mr, Big Eyes," Maxine said. "What do you
want?"

"How come you're throwing all that food away?" I
asked.

"Who's going to eat it, do you think?"

I thought, in Jersey City we saved everything—in-
cluding cold spaghetti! I made up my mind right then
to study extra hard. The way my mother and father are
throwing money around I figure there won't be anything
left by the time I'm ready for college. If I decide to go
I'll need a full scholarship!

I bought a small chess set with some of my allow-
ance. Not a fancy one like Joel's, but the pieces are
made of wood. I taught my father how to play.

Pop's not as tired out as he used to be. Business at
the plant is okay and things are running smooth. Every
night after supper we sit in the den and play a game.
Pop says chess is good because it teaches you how to
solve problems. He likes it so much he keeps on play-
ing even after I have to go up to my room to do my
homework. He has a make-believe opponent he calls
Sam. Eop moves the pieces for both of them. Some-
times I think he likes playing with Sam better than me.

We were in the middle of a hot game one night when
the doorbell rang. It was Father Pissaro the Second.

"Vie!" my mother called. "Look who's here."

Pop stood up. "Father . . . what a surprise!" He
looked at my mother as if to say, Did you invite him
without telling me?

And my mother looked back at him with a don't ask
me expression on her face.

So I said, "How come you came to see us. Father?"

"Tony!" my mother said. "Where are your manners?"

Father Pissaro the Second smiled at me. "That's all
right. Tony. I really came to see your grandmother. I've
missed her."

My mother took a big breath. Then she smiled. "Oh
Father . . . that's very nice of you. Mama hasn't been
feeling too well."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Father Pissaro said. "Do
you think I could see her? I know she'll want to make
her confession. She never used to miss a week."

"Well, Father, that's very thoughtful of you," my
mother said. "Would you give me a minute to run up-
stairs and tell Mama you're here?"

"Take your time, Mrs. Miglione," Father Pissaro
said.

I wondered if Grandma would make a fuss. And how
does she confess every week when she can't talk? Does
she write it all down or what?

"How's the Junior Youth Group going. Tony?" Fa-
ther Pissaro asked.

"I like it a lot," I said. "Ted is really nice."

"How about a drink, Father?" Pop asked.

"No thank you."

"Coffee, or tea?" my father said. "It's no trouble."

"Thank you Mr. Miglione, but I really don't want
anything."

We looked at each other for a while and then my
mother called from the top of the stairs. "You can come
up now. Father. Mama would like to see you."

After she showed Father Pissaro to Grandma's room,
my mother came downstairs- "I hope Mama doesn't tell
him anything to embarrass us," she whispered to my
father.

"She has a right to tell him whatever's on her mind,"
Pop answered.

56

"But you know how stubborn Mama can be these
days. She might tell him something just to get back
at me."

"For what, Carmella? She's not a prisoner here. She
can come out of her room any time she feels like it."

"Shush ..." my mother whispered. "Here he comes."

That didn't take long, I thought. Did Grandma tell
him any family secrets? I studied his face. But I
couldn't tell anything from his expression. It was the
same as before. Still, I don't think it would be easy to
fool Father Pissaro the Second.

After he left my mother ran up to Grandma's room.
She knocked and knocked but she couldn't get in,
Grandma had locked her door again.

This morning, before I left for school, my mother
said, "I think it's pretty funny that a boy who won't
wear rubbers when it's pouring out suddenly carries an
old raincoat around with him every day."

"I like my raincoat," I said. "It's comfortable." I
wasn't about to explain the real reason I took it to

school.

"You have a new jacket," Mom said. "I'd like to see

you wear it once or twice before it's outgrown."
"Maybe I'll wear the Jacket tomorrow."
"Maybe you'll wear it today!" Mom held the jacket
and shook it at me. "Put it on, Tony, and leave that
old raincoat home. It doesn't look nice for school. Be-
sides, it's sunny out." •

"Oh . . . okay." If I made a big scene she might get

suspicious.

So I wore the new jacket to school and worried all
day about what might happen. But nothing happened.
Maybe it's a question of mind over matter.

One Friday in November, right after second period,
57

I met Joel in the boy's room. He was up on the sinks
singing. "There was a girl in our town—her name was
Nancy Brown . . ." When he saw me he yelled, "Hey
Tony . . . watch this!" So I stood there and watched as
Joel ran up the row of sinks, then down it. By that time
he had quite an audience and of course nobody could
wash his hands. I wished my mother could have seen
the Angel. As Joel sang his voice cracked. Everybody
cheered. When the second bell rang Joel jumped down
from the sinks and went to his class.

That day at lunch Joel was in front of me on line in
the cafeteria. He still buys his milic and apple every day.
Always the same routine. But this time I saw him take
his apple, inspect it for bruises like usual, then stick it
into his brown lunch bag. He only paid for his milk. I
really got mad when I saw that.

After five days of watching Joel do this I wanted to
shout at the cashier, "Hey, this guy's stealing apples!"
I'd yank it out of his lunch bag and shove it in the
cashier's face. "You see," I'd say. "You see how stupid
you are—even if you are in ninth grade! He's been do-
ing it for a week—stealing an apple a day for a week—
and you haven't even noticed!"

Then I figured the cashier would look up at me and
say, "Please tell me what to do." And I'd tell her in
this deep voice, "Call the principal, stupid!" Then the
principal would pat me on the back and tell me, "What
we need is more young men like you, Mr. Miglione,
Honest—brave—unafraid young men!"

But Joel would never speak to me again. Marty Endo
and Scott Gold would call me Snitch. So what did I do
about the whole situation? Nothing! As usual.

I paid the cashier and carried my tray of meatloaf
and mashed potatoes to our regular table. I sat down
between Joel and Marty Endo. As I began to eat I got
an awful pain. Wow! It nearly doubled me over.

58

"What's the matter?" Joel asked.

"I don't know," 1 said. "I got a pain in my stom-
ach."

"You want to go to the nurse?"

"No, I think it's going away." After a few minutes it
disappeared and I ate some of my lunch but I didn't
enjoy it.

The pain came back that night after dinner and I
went to my room to rest. That's when I discovered I
could see Lisa's room from my room, I don't know
why I never thought of it before. I guess I've been so
busy pulling down my shades to make sure she can't
see me it never entered my mind that I could see her.
With all my lights turned off and with her lights turned
on, I can see everything she's doing. And what she
was doing was getting undressed. I forgot about my
pain and concentrated on my window.

59

Then again,
maybe I won't

There was no school on Veterans Day. Just as we were
finishing breakfast Grandma walked into the kitchen.
She was dressed in black. All three of us stopped eating.
This was the first time she'd come out of her room
since Maxine started running things. Grandma handed
my mother a note. First my mother read it to herself.
Then she jumped up and hugged Grandma.

"Oh Mama . . . you remembered!" My mother read
us the note:

I'm ready to go to the cemetery.

I thought we wouldn't go this year. Somehow I
figured that we've changed so much since coming to
Rosemont we'd be able to skip the cemetery deal. But
no, we were going. We go every year on Veterans Day,
to bring flowers to Vinnie's grave. He's buried in Perth
Amboy, which wasn't a bad trip from Jersey City.

From Rosemont it takes forever. We were all
squeezed into the car. Me, my mother and my father
in the front. Grandma, Ralph, Angie and the baby in
the back. My mother kept turning around to talk to
Ralph and Angie.

"If only Vinnie could see her. He'd be so proud! If
only he knew he had such an adorable little niece."
My mother sniffled and I knew what was coming. Every

60

year she devotes the whole day to talking and crying
and saying if only about Vinnie. I always feel like an
outsider on Veterans Day.

On the way to Perth Amboy Angie had to feed the
baby. Halfway through her bottle Vicki spit up. It
landed on Ralph. So Ralph passed Vickie to Grandma
while Angie tried to clean off his jacket. After Vicki
finished her bottle she started to cry. My mother said
she must have gas. So Grandma passed Vicki to my
mother in the front seat so she could try to burp her.

When Vicki cries her face turns bright red and
she looks like she's going to explode. Finally Angie
handed my mother a pacifier for Vicki to suck. I'm
glad we don't have a baby at home. Two hours in the

car is enough.

When we got to Perth Amboy my father tried to
find the same florist as last year. My mother argued

with him about that.

"What's the difference? One florist is as good as an-
other."

But my father said, "I remember him. He was a

nice guy. He went out of his way to be nice."

"So you'll waste the whole day looking for him!" my

mother snapped.

This went on for twenty minutes. Finally my father
found the florist he was looking for. We all got out
of the car to stretch our legs. My mother and Angie
talked on and on about what kind of flowers to buy
this year. Grandma kept pointing to yellow chrysanthe-
mums but my mother said they reminded her of foot-
ball games and that she preferred something all white,

in a graveyard container.

We piled back into the car with me holding this
huge arrangement of flowers. Last year it was only a

third as big.

When we got to the cemetery I carried the flowers

61

to Vinnie's grave and stuck the container into the
ground, I stepped back and brushed off my hands. My
mother bent down and sort of fluffed out the flowers.
Then she cried. "Oh Vinnie . . . Vinnie ... I miss you
so much," she said. She covered her face with her
hands.

Grandma kneeled and kissed the grave. She does
that every year. It makes me feel awful. I hate it. Why
can't I feel the way they do? Why can't I remember
things about Vinnie and cry too? My father just stared
at the grave and rocked back and forth on his feet,
Angie held the baby close and whispered to her. She's
telling Vickie about Vinnie, I thought. About how he
died for his country and all that. About how brave he
was and how he understood everything my father did
in the basement in Jersey City.

Does Vinnie know about us now? Does he know
that we live in a big white house and that we drove
here in a new green hardtop instead of the old truck?
Does he know that Grandma has her own color TV
because she's not allowed to cook anymore? Does he
know about our boss, Maxine? And if he knows, what
does he think? Is he laughing at us? Is he laughing and
saying, "Hey, what happened to you guys since you
visited me last year?'*

Ted Gibbons organized our Junior Youth Group
basketball team. He said anybody who wants to play
can play. He told us he remembers what it's like to try
out for a team and not make it. So we wound up having
two teams. Only two guys in our Youth Group didn't
want to play and one of them agreed to be Ted's assis-
tant coach and the other one said he*d like to be our
sports reporter.

Ted meets with us every Friday afternoon at our
junior high. We don't have any after-school activities

62

t

on Friday so Ted got permission from the principal
for us to use the gym. Ted's moustache is getting
thicker. He touches it a lot as if he's checking to
make sure it's still there. He's worked out a whole
schedule of games for us. We're going to play every :

Friday night during January and February. Eight games
in all against teams from other churches and temples.
Since we have two teams Ted said we'll alternate and
change over at every halftime. That way we'll all have a
chance to play.

We started our practice right before Thanksgiving.
I'm the best foul shooter. And I'm fast too. I think Ted
is pretty impressed- I just wish I was taller. Because
when somebody like Marty Endo guards me I can't
shoot at all. I can't even see!

When I'm playing basketball I don't think of any-
thing else. Not Lisa or school work or my family. I
concentrate on the ball and getting it into the basket.
Basketball makes me feel good. I wish we didn't have
two teams. I wish I could be in there all the time.

The whole family was invited for Thanksgiving. My
three aunts and uncles and my cousin Ginger from
Weehawken. Ginger belongs to my mother's sister
Rosemary. We call her Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose is mar-
ried to Uncle Lou. Uncle Lou's Jewish and my mother
doesn't approve of him. It has nothing to do with being
Jewish she says. It's just that he isn't right for Aunt
Rose, which is pretty funny because they've been mar-
ried for fifteen years.

This was the family's first visit to Rosemont and
my mother was really doing it up big. She hired another
lady to help Maxine in the kitchen so Maxine wouldn't
get all tired out what with cooking the turkey and all.
Grandma refused to join us. She hasn't left her room
since Veterans Day.

63

My mother begged, "Please, Mama . . . just this
once! It's Thanksgiving. Give me some pleasure. Mama!
Get dressed and come downstairs. Mama . . . will you
please turn off that television set and come down for
dinner!" But Grandma wouldn't budge.

Angle brought Vicki in a car bed. She was supposed
to sleep in it all afternoon but nobody told her that
because she screamed a lot. So we played Pass the
Baby. All my aunts and uncles got to hold her and
make silly faces at her until my mother came up with
the brilliant solution of leaving Vicki upstairs with
Grandma while we ate.

Angle took the baby to Grandma's room and then
even if she was screaming we couldn't hear her. A very
important thing to remember about babies is that if
you can't hear them they're not so bad.

My relatives were really impressed with Rosemont
and our house. Uncle Lou kept telling Ginger, "Now
you can say you have rich relatives, baby. Really rich
relatives!"

And Aunt Rose said, "When Ginger gets older Tony
can fix her up on dates and she can sleep over here."

"Oh, can I, Aunt Carmella?" Ginger asked.

My mother nodded and smiled.

I thought, I'll never fix you up Ginger, because
you're dumb and ugly and I don't like you anyway!

Uncle Lou said, "Rose thinks of everything, doesn't
she? Why should Ginger go out with a poor boy if she
can go out with a rich one, right?"

So I said, "What's so great about being rich? Money
isn't everything, you know."

They all laughed. Even Ralph and Angie laughed.
Ralph said, "Listen, Big Shot . . . wait until you have
to pay for baby shoes!"

How does he know so much about baby shoes?
I wondered. Vicki doesn't even wear shoes yet! Ralph

64

is different lately. He isn't The Wizard any more. He's
just an old guy with a wife and kid. Would he be like
this if we were still in Jersey City? Is it being a father
that changed him?

Finally we sat down to dinner. I've never eaten so
much in my life. For dessert we had a choice of three
pies—pumpkin, apple or lemon meringue. I chose
lemon meringue because I knew Angle baked it and
Maxine baked the other two.

After dinner the family went upstairs one at a time,
to visit with Grandma.

When Aunt Rose came downstairs she said, "Mama's
lucky to be able to spend her last years in such luxury."

"And with her own color TV," Ginger said.

Later they all decided the reason Grandma "took
to her room" was plain old age. I could have told them
the truth but I'd have gotten in a lot of trouble.

My father offered Ralph and my uncles cigars. He
laughed as he told them each one cost $1.00. When
they all lit up. Aunt Rose asked Ginger to recite for
us. Ginger's been doing that ever since I can remem-
ber. You'd think by now she'd, know how dumb she
sounds. You'd think she'd be too embarrassed to stand
up in front of a bunch of relatives and say her stupid
poems. But no! She jumped right up and started.

She had some new poems this year. Two about
Thanksgiving, naturally, and one about love by Eliza-
beth Barrett Browning. When she recited that one she
closed her eyes. How I wished Joel could have heard
her!

When Ginger was through I heard Aunt Rose telling
my mother that Ginger wears a bra already, which re-
minded me of Lisa. Soon it will be dark outside and
m be able to watch her from my window. Wlien I feel
my neck turn red hot I know I better think about
basketball in a hurry.

65

Corky's real name is Kathryn Thomas. I found out
because a girl in my homeroom named Marian passed
me a note. It said:

K. T. thinks T. M. is super!

I knew who T. M. was ... me. But I didn't know
who K. T. was. And I really didn't care. So I crumpled
up the note and threw it away. I made a disgusted
face at Marian. That afternoon I got another note. This
one said:

My real name is Kathryn Thomas. Love, Corky.

I crumpled up that note too. I wished she'd leave me
alone. She's a real pain!

Ewr since that day Marian runs over to me every
morning and says, "Hi Tony. How's Corky?"

Corky is always stationed right near us so she
doesn't miss a thing.

I answer Marian with a straight face. "I don't know,"
I say. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Then Corky and Marian giggle like crazy until Mrs.
O'Leary looks up and tells them to settle down.

Marty Endo told me that Corky offered to do his
math homework for a week if he arranged for me to
wind up sitting next to her at our Junior Youth Group
meetings. Marty wouldn't do it. Why should he? He's
great at math.

The more Corky bothers me the more I think about
Lisa. I wish it was Lisa who passed me notes and
wanted to sit next to me.

This morning, in math class, I wasn't thinking about
Lisa. I was concentrating on a problem in my book.
When I got the answer I raised my hand and Miss

66

Tobin called on me. She asked me to go up to the
board and show the class how I worked it out.

Just as I finished writing the figures on the board I
started to get bard. Mind over matter . . . mind over
matter, I told myself. But still it went up. I kept my
back to the class and prayed for it to go down.

Miss Tobin said, "That's an interesting way to solve
the problem. Tony."

For a minute I thought she meant my real problem,
but then I realized she was talking about the math
problem.

"Could you explain your reasoning to the class,
Tony?"

I started talking but I didn't turn around. I could
just picture facing the class. Everybody would laugh
and point to my pants. I wished I was wearing my rain-
coat.

"We'd hear better if you'd turn around," Miss Tobin
said.

What could I do? Pretend to be sick and run out of
the room? Maybe. Or just refuse to turn around? No.
Ask to go to the bathroom? No. , . .

"Tony . . ." Miss Tobin said.

"Yes?"

"We're waiting for you to explain the problem."

"Oh. Okay, Miss Tobin."

I was holding my math book in my left hand and a
piece of chalk in my right. I turned sideways, keeping
my book in front of my pants. I explained my answer
as fast as I could and Miss Tobin didn't ask me any
questions. She said, "Thank you. Tony. You can sit
down now."

I walked back to my seat still holding the math book
close to me. But I didn't have to worry. By then it was
down.

From now on I'm going to make sure I always have

67

a stack of books with me. Books are a lot better than
my old raincoat 1

One afternoon after Thanksgiving vacation Joel came
over. My mother was in Queens with Angie and Vicki
as usual and Grandma was locked in her room. So
was Maxine. She has this strict rule about how she has
to have an afternoon nap every day, so she'll be fresh as
a daisy for supper, she says. My mother says, of course
that's only fair. So we're not supposed to disturb
Maxine between three and four-thirty.

While I was pouring two glasses of milk Joel asked
if he could use the phone.

"Sure," I said. I didn't pay any attention until I heard
him ask for Denton F. Bucnanan. I thought, oh no!
He's at it again.

He dialed two more times, going through his whole
routine, before he called back and said, "This is Denton
F. Buchanan. Have there been any calls for me?"

I said, "Same old tricks!"

Joel said, "Why don't you try it?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Come on. Tony! Make up the name yourself."

"I don't know, Joel. I could get in trouble."

"For what? Nobody's going to know. Come on ...
think up a good name. You're not chicken are you?"

"No."

"Well then ... go ahead.'*

"Oh ... all right." I concentrated until I came up
with a name. "How's Peter Ira Grinch?" I asked.

"Peter Ira Grinch? That's a nutty name."

"I suppose . . . but it has good initials," I said.

"P. I. G. Hey, yeah! I like that," Joel said.

"How do I do it?"

"Just dial a number. Make sure it's not long dis-
tance though."

68

I picked up the phone, clearing my throat several
times as I dialed seven digits and waited. It rang twice
before a lady answered.

"Hello." she said.

"Uh . . . hello. May I please speak to uh . . . Peter
Ira Grinch."

"What number you calling?"

I repeated the number I dialed.

"You got the right number but nobody's here by
that name."

I hung up.

"You did fine," Joel said.

"I did?"

"Sure. Now call back.'*

I dialed.

This time she answered right away. "Hello.**

"Peter Ira Grinch, please."

"Look kid . . ." How did she know I was a kid? "I
told you . . . you got the wrong number!"

I hung up without saying anything. I told Joel, "She
doesn't like me."

"She doesn't have to like you," Joel said. "She
doesn't even know you. Go ahead. Tony . . . one more
time."

My hand shook as I dialed. It didn*t even ring once.

"Hello," she said. You could tell she was mad.

"Peter Ira Grinch, please."

"Listen, you lousy kids," she screamed. "I'm fed up
with you and your lousy phone calls. I'm gonna call
the cops! You hear me? The cops. They'll find you
and lock you up where you belong!" She slammed the
phone down.

"She said she*s going to call the cops," I told Joel.

He laughed. "She's not calling anybody. Go on ...
call one more time."

;<! can't.*'

69

"What do you mean you can't? You've got to call
and say you're Peter Ira Grinch. Otherwise it was all
for nothing."

"I can't," I said again. "Don't you know they can
trace calls? Don't you know that, Joel?"

"You've got to call her again. Tony!"

I got a stomach pain then. A bad one. "I can't ... I
can't because I'm sick!" I said, holding my stomach.
"You might as well go home Joel—I mean it, I'm
really sick!" I rushed to the bathroom.

When my mother came home I was still in the bath-
room and my stomach was killing me. My mother said
nobody can have that much gas and that she was go-
ing to take me to the doctor.

She made a lot of phone calls to find out which
doctor to see on Long Island- Finally she decided on
the one Diane Hoober recommended. My mother thinks
everything the Hoobers do is perfect. I wanted to tell
her the truth about Joel. I wanted to see how her face
would look then, but the more I thought about telling
her the more my stomach hurt.

The doctor's name was Frank Holland. He has gray
hair and a big nose. He asked my mother to wait in
the outer office while he checked me. I had to lie down
on his examining table with most of my clothes off
while he pushed and prodded at my belly. I was sup-
posed to tell him if it hurt in any special place. It
didn't.

"I think we'd better do a test on you. Tony," Dr.
Holland said. "Come back tomorrow morning at eight.
Don't eat anything after six o'clock tonight. And no
breakfast in the morning."

"What kind of test?" I asked.

"Oh ... I'm going to have a look inside you. It won't
hurt. I promise."

70

I couldn't sleep at all that night. I was worried about
the test and about what might be wrong with me. I hope
I don't need an operation. I'm really scared about
somebody cutting into me.

The next morning my mother took me back to Dr.
Holland's office. He was right about the test. It didn't
hurt. But he forgot to tell me I'd have to drink a glass
of this horrible stuff called barium. It tasted like choc-
olate flavored chalk. Dr. Holland explained that when
I drank the barium and stood in front of his machine,
he could see inside me.

Being a doctor must be really neat. Maybe 1*11 go to
medical school so I can look inside people too. Then
again, maybe I won't. Doctors have to do a lot messier
stuff than that and I don't even like dissecting frogs in
biology.

After the test. Dr. Holland said I should get dressed
and come into his office. He talked to me from behind
his desk. I noticed he doodled on a prescription pad—
dog and cat faces mostly. I sat in a chair to bis left and
I was pretty nervous. My hands were sweating like
crazy.

"Well, Tony," he said, "there*s' nothing for you to
worry about. Everything is going to be fine. Your test
was normal."

"I don't need an operation?" I asked.

*'No, nothing like that," Dr. Holland said.

"Then what? I mean, why do I get so many pains?"

"Well ... I think you're pretty tense. Tony. And
when a person gets tense about things his insides
tighten up and that can cause pain."

I rubbed my hands on my pants.

"You know, ifs nothing to be ashamed of," Dr. Hol-
land said. "We all face some problems. It's just a ques-
tion of learning how to handle those problems."

"Really? That's what it really is?"

71

"Yes. Some people call it nervous stomach."

"Oh that. I knew a kid in Jersey City with nervous
stomach. He was a creep."

"Well ... we all hold things inside of us that might
be better out in the open. Don't push yourself, Tony.
Try to relax and unwind."

"I am relaxed," I said.

"Maybe now . . . but not always. In any event I'm
going to prescribe some pills for you. One tablet twice
a day for two weeks. After that, only when you need
them. When you get pains or diarrhea."

Dr. Holland handed me the prescription.

As I stood up to leave he said, "What about girls?**

I sat back down. "Girls?" I asked.

"Yes. Do you think about them a lot?"

"Not much," I mumbled, looking down.

"It's perfectly normal you know."

"Oh sure. I know."

"Do you like a special one?"

"Kind of," I said.

"Does she know?" he asked.

"No."

"Maybe you'd feel better if you told her.'*

I could just see myself telling Lisa that! I shook my
head at Dr. Holland.

He gave me a small laugh. "Well, you'll be just fine,
Tony. There's no real problem here." He stood up and
patted me on the back. Then he opened the door to his
waiting room and called in my mother. I read a mag-
azine while she talked to the doctor.

Everybody was very nice to me at home that day—
even Maxine. She made my favorite kind of chicken
for supper. While we were eating it my mother told us
that the stores were decorated for Christmas already.
And that since this was to be our first Rosemont Christ-
mas she wanted it to be extra special.

72

"Make me a list of what you want. Tony," my mother
said.

"I thought I was supposed to mail that list to Santa,"
I said.

My mother laughed. "Listen to him!" Then she said,
"Not so many years ago you did write to Santa!"

"I'll tell you one thing," my father said. "This is go-
ing to be the first Christmas I've ever had where I don't
have to worry about the bills. This year we can afford to
splurge!"

"I really don't know what I want," I said. "But I'll
think about it."

Later I took my pill and got ready for bed. I kneeled
in front of my window until ten o'clock but Lisa's
room stayed dark. When I got into bed I thought, if I
had binoculars I could see her really good—up close—
her face and everything. I knew what to put on my
Christmas list.

That night I dreamed about Lisa. My dream went
on and on. It started out at the football game where
Lisa put her arm around me. Only in my dream she
didn't stop there. And Corky was in it too. She was
sitting on the football field and Lisa kept saying, "You
see. Corky . . . here's what to do ... to do ... to
do . . ."

I woke up suddenly. It was morning. I felt wet and
my pajamas were sticky. Oh God! There is something
wrong with me. Really wrong. Dr. Holland doesn't
know what he's talking abouti I am so sick. This proves
it.

Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. Maybe I had a
wet dream. Yeah . . . I'll bet that's it. How about that?
I thought they'd be different though. I thought a lot
more stuff would come out. And anyway, I wasn't sure
I'd ever have one. At least not yet.

73

What am I supposed to do? Maybe I should stay in
bed all day. But then my mother might call the doctor
and he'd probably tell her the truth. I better get up. But
what about my pajamas? I guess the first thing to do
is get undressed. Okay ... I will.

I threw my pajamas into the hamper in my bathroom.
I soaked a washcloth and threw that in too. Then I
mixed up all the dirty clothes so everything would feel
damp, not just my pajamas.

When I went back into my room I sat down on my
bed. There was a spot on my sheet. I touched it. It was
damp! Oh no—does that stuff stain? I grabbed some
tissues and wiped it up.

Will Maxine know? I suppose I could change my
sheet.. . but that would look worse, wouldn't it? Then
she might think I wet my bed like a little kid. No ...
leave the sheet on and check it first thing after school
to make sure nothing shows up.

I had an awful day. I couldn't concentrate on my
school work and I got yelled at in English class for
not paying attention. How could I pay attention? I
kept thinking that when I get home the whole family's
going to be there. Mom and Pop, Grandma, Ralph and
Angie, Vicki, Maxine, even cousin Ginger! They'll all
know about me. Maxine will show them the sheet and
my mother will say, "I don't buy the best sheets for you
to mess up, Anthonyl"

I'll say, "It was an accident Mom ... a mistake . . .
it won't happen again."

And Ralph will say, "If you hadn't been thinking
about that girl this never would have happened."

Then Pop will say, "I expected great things from
you. Tony . .. and this is what I get!"

After school I rushed home. Nobody was waiting for
me. My mother wasn't even home. What a relief! I ran
up to my room, closed the door behind me and pulled

74

down my bedspread and blanket. The sheets were
changed! There were striped ones on my bed this mom-
ing and now they were plain blue. ^ Does that mean
Maxine knows? Did she tell my mother? Or ... wait a
minute ... is this the day the sheets get changed every
week? I can't remember! I don't think I'll ever be able
to look at Maxine again.

75

Then again,
maybe I won't

Finally, I handed my mother my Christmas list. That
night, after supper, I heard her tell my father, "Tony
wants binoculars."

"Binoculars?" Pop asked.

That's what it says here." My mother waved my
list at him. "It's the only thing he's asked for."

"What's he going to do with binoculars?" my father
asked.

All this time I was sitting on the floor leaning up
against a chair, reading a book about Wilt the Stilt. Did
they think I couldn't hear or what? I didn't look up
from my book. I pretended to be absorbed in my
reading.

"Tony . . ." my mother said. "What are you going to
do with binoculars?"

I didn't answer.

My mother repeated her question. "I said what are
you going to do with binoculars?"

This time I looked at her. "What? Oh, binocu-
lars ..." I had my answer carefully planned. I knew
they'd ask why I wanted them» but I had to be really
casual about it or they might get suspicious. "Watch
birds," I said.

"Birds?" my mother asked.

"Yes," I told her. "This spring. I want to find out
all I can about birds."

76

My mother smiled. "It all goes to show," she told my
father, "if you take a boy out of the city and put him
close to nature he'll become a better person."

I wouldn't exactly say Rosemont is close to nature
but I didn't argue with my mother. I knew I'd be getting
my binoculars.

I had another dream about Lisa, This time I was hid-
ing in her closet while she was getting ready for bed.
When I came out she didn't scream. She was glad to see
me, like she knew I was there all along. Corky was in
this dream too. She was dressed up like a cheerleader
and all through the best part of the dream Corky
jumped around and shouted cheers.

The next night when I started upstairs to do my
homework my mother said, "Vie ... go on up with
him."

Now why did she say that? Why does she want him
to come upstairs with me? That means something.
Maybe they know about me. Maybe I talk in my sleep!

My father followed me up the stairs. When we got
to the top he said, "Tony ... I'd like to have a talk
with you. Just for a minute . . . okay?"

I looked down. My mother was standing at the bot-
tom of the stairs, smiling. "Sure Pop," I mumbled.

"In private. Tony," my father said. "In your room."

We walked to my room and when we were both
inside Pop closed the door.

He knows! I'm sure he knows about me. I always
knew he could read my mind. This proves it. Wait a
minute . . . maybe it's just going to be a talk about how
I'm doing in school. Or what I want to be or something
easy like that. I hope so. I really do. "Did I do some-
thing wrong, Pop?" I asked.

"No, no," Pop said. "Nothing like that. I just thought

77

we'd have a little talk. You know . . . kind of man
to man."

Oh-oh . . . here it comes! I was right the first time.
What'll I say? Nothing. I won't say a word. Ill let him
say it. I sat down on my bed. Pop pulled my desk chair
over and sat close to me. He looked around for a while,
rubbing his hands together, almost like he was praying.

"Uh Tony . . ." he finally said.

"Yes, Pop?"

"Uh . . . well . . . now that you're in seventh grade
there are things you should know about." While he
was talking Pop cracked each of his knuckles.

"Yes, Pop?"

"Oh ... I don't know . . . maybe Ralph should be
the one to talk to you. He's a lot closer to your age."
Pop stopped talking and looked around my room.
Then he coughed a little and started again. "You see
Tony . . . there are things you should know about girls
and about babies and about . . . look Tony, do you
know anything?"

He doesn't know about my dreams, I thought. This
has nothing to do with what I've been thinking about.
He really doesn't know. He's more scared than I am.

"Tony ... I asked you, do you know anything?'*

"Sure Pop," I said.

"You do? You know about babies . . , how they're
made?"

"Sure Pop. Since third grade."

My father looked like he couldn*t believe it. "Since
third grade?"

"Sure Pop. Big Joe told me all about it.'*

"You're positive you have the right information?"

"Sure Pop."

"Do you know other things too, Tony?"

"Sure Pop. A lot."

My father looked relieved. "Well," he said, "the

78

fc

important thing to remember is that I'm here to an-
swer all your questions."

"Okay Pop. Pll remember."

He rubbed his hands again. "I don't know, Tony . ..
I feel like I should say more. Your mother thinks
there's a lot for you to learn, but I don't know what to
tell you. I never told Vinnie or Ralph anything. I don't
even know how Vinnie learned. From his friends I
guess. And Vinnie told Ralph. So I'm not too ex-
perienced when it comes to discussing the subject. But
listen Tony . . . man to man . . . you can always come
to me."

"Okay Pop." I got up and stretched. My father
stood up and put his arm around me.

"Hey Tony ... how about a quick game of chess?"

"Okay Pop ... I guess I can do my homework
later."

When we were downstairs my mother gave Pop a
look that said. Well? And he gave her one back that
said. Everything's taken care oj.

The next day my father handed me a book called
Basic Facts About Sex. He said I should read it in my
spare time and if I have any questions I should come
to him. There's a whole section on wet dreams and
another on masturbation. Maybe they do know about
me after all! My stomach jumped around so bad I had
to take a pill.                                     '

We got ready for our first Christmas in Rosemont.
First we bought a live tree. Not a little one—a big
floor-to-ceiling one. We bought it at the high school
field, where the Boy Scouts hold their annual sale. I've
always wanted a real Christmas tree. In Jersey City we
had a little white one that sat on top of the comer
table. It looked nice but it didn't have that great smell.
Frankie's family had a live tree every year and some-

79

times I used to just sit in his living room and sniff it
for an hour.

My mother bought a million tree ornaments at
Bloomingdale's, including tinsel so wide we had to
wrap it around the tree instead of just hanging it from
branches.

My father, being an ex-electrician, lit up the out-
side of our house with a lot of tiny bulbs in the bushes.
They twinkle on and off. He set up spotlights to show
off our front door too.

Maxine was in charge of the door. She covered it
with gold foil to match the twinkles. Over the foil is a
huge wreath. I have to admit, the house looks good.

My mother tried to get Grandma to come down-
stairs to see our tree. Once a week Mom insists she
leave her room so Maxine can clean it and air it out.
But instead of coming downstairs for an hour. Grandma
locked herself up in my bathroom.

I told my mother, "Grandma's not looking so good."

And my mother said, "How can she look good when
she never gets fresh air?"

So I said, "Maybe she'd get some fresh air if you'd
let her go back to doing the cooking."

"How would that look to the neighbors?" my mother
asked, "like she's the maid or something!"

And I said, "Who cares about the neighbors!"

"Grandma's worked hard all her life," my mother
said. "Now it's time for her to take it easy and enjoy
herself."

"She doesn't act like she's enjoying it," I argued.

"Of course she is! Doesn't she love that color TV?"

"How do I know?" I said.

"Well, she watches it all day doesn't she?" My mother
bent over to pick a piece of lint off the carpet

"That doesn't mean she likes it," I said. "She Just
hasn't got anything better to do."

80

"What do you want her to do, Anthony? Play golf
with Diane Hoober!"

Oh-oh. She was getting mad now. But so was I. I
shouted, "Maybe I want her to cook!"

"That's enough, Anthony!" my mother said. "Maxine
will hear you and get insulted.'*

"Maxine is a lousy cook," I mumbled. That isn't
true but I felt like saying it. I was taking Dr. Holland's
advice—about when you feel like saying something,
say it!

"Watch your mouth, Anthony!" my mother said very
low, making each word sink in. "It's growing faster than
the rest of you."

Joel asked me to go Christmas shopping with him. I
told him okay, because I have a lot of allowance saved
up and I want to buy something nice for everybody in
our family. Now I'm sorry I said I'd go with him. Sup-
pose he steals something?

I feel like calling him to say, "Forget it, I can't go."
But then he'll want to know why and what will I say?

When Joel called for me I was. in the bathroom. My
stomach hurt. But in a little while the pain went away
and we went downtown together. Once we got to the
store I followed Joel around like a detective.

Every time he put his hands in his pockets I was there
to make sure he hadn't taken anything. Once we were
loaded down with shopping bags I really had a hard
time. I paid more attention to Joel than to my shopping
list. I was surprised to see that he paid for everything.
Maybe Joel never really stole those batteries. Maybe it
was all my imagination. It could have been a mistake!
But what about the apples at lunch? He steals one every
day and that's not my imagination.

I helped Joel pick out his present for Lisa. We de-
cided on this stretch sweater that the saleslady said fits

81

like a second skin. Joel chose the color—green. I liked
the orange one better.

The day before Christmas a piano arrived at our
house. A baby grand. Six men delivered it. It was my
father's gift to the whole family, but my mother had
gone along with him to pick it out, so I was really the
only one surprised.

When it was all set up in front of the living room
windows my mother got tears in her eyes and said, "It's
absolutely gorgeous! I've always wanted a piano. Oh
Vie ... I'm so happy!" With that she threw her arms
around my father's neck and kissed him. I don't like
them to act that way in front of me.

"Do you like it, Tony?" my father asked, untangling
himself from my mother.

"It's really neat," I said. "But nobody here plays the
piano."

"Not yet," my mother said, putting an arm around
my shoulder.

I knew what was coming. Piano lessons for me.
Sometimes I wish we didn't have so much money. How
can I tell them I don't want piano lessons? How can
I tell them I can't even clap my hands in time to music.
I don't even sing in the shower—I'm that bad!

On Christmas morning we waited for Ralph, Angle
and Vicki to arrive before we opened anything. Here's
what I got: Two V-neck cashmere sweaters—the kind
Joel wears—one from my parents and the other from
Angle and Ralph, a set of encyclopedias and super de-
luxe extra powerful binoculars! The card said;

For our son the bird watcher . . .
with all our love

Mom and Pop

82

We gathered upstairs in Grandma's room to watch
her open her presents. She got a robe and slippers from
my mother and father—a robe and slippers from Ralph
and Angle—and a silver toothbrush from me. I bought
it in the department they call "For the Woman Who
Has Everything." Grandma doesn't have everything of
course, but at least this was something different. The
only time she smiled was when she opened the silver
toothbrush. So I was glad I gave it to her.

That night I kneeled by my window and waited.
Lisa's lights were on and her shades were up as usual.
I don't think she ever bothers pulling them down.
Finally she came into her room. My hands were really
shaking. I couldn't even hold my binoculars steady.
The view was great. Just great! It was like she was
standing right in front of me. I could even see the ex-
pression on her face. She was smiling. She has a terrific
smile. The first thing she did was try on the green
stretch sweater. She turned around and around in front
of her mirror. She doesn't have to worry. She's beautiful
from every angle. I wanted to^tell her that. I watched
until her lights went out. I love her, I think.

The next day Mrs. Hoober rang our bell and I
thought, she knows! She knows Fve got binoculars and
that I watched Lisa last night. She's going to tell my
parents and they'll take away my binoculars and tell me
I've got a dirty mind. They'll move me to another bed-
room so I can't see her any more. Maybe I'll even have
to spend six weeks in the Juvenile Detention Center. If I
do, I hope Lisa will come on visiting day.

But I was all wrong. Mrs. Hoober only wanted to
give us some candies from England and wish us a Merry
Christmas. When she left she called to my mother.

"Don't forget, lunch at the club in two weeks ... on
Friday. See you then, Carol."

83

"Carol! Who's Carol?" I asked when Mrs. Hoober
was gone.

My mother laughed- "Oh, that's what Diane calls
me. She says Carmella's too hard to remember."

"Just like Millicent! Just like their maid'"

"What's the difference. Tony?"

"Your name is not Carol!" I yelled. My mother just
stared at me. "Why don't you tell her if she can't re-
member your name then you don't want to be her
friend!"

1 wanted my mother to yell back at me, but she
didn't. She turned to my father and spoke very slow.
"I don't know," she said. "You raise them with kid
gloves and then they walk all over you. What's the
point?" She repeated "What's the point?'" over and
over as she left the room.

I ran upstairs and locked myself into the bathroom.
I knew I'd get sick now. And it would be my mother's
fault. She'd be sorry!

In a few minutes my father knocked on the door
and called, "You all right. Tony?"

"I'm okay," I muttered.

"I'd like to talk to you."

"I have nothing to say."

"Come on. Tony . . . open up the door."

I unlocked it and said, "It's open." Then I turned
on the water and splashed my face. When I was through
my father handed me a towel.

"A name's not so important, Tony," my father said.
"What's inside you is what counts. But not a name. It's
just like Tony instead of Anthony. What's the difference
if Mrs. Hoober wants to call your mother Carol and
she doesn't mind? It's not going to change her. You
hurt her. Tony. She's very upset about you."

"I'm sorry," I said. I felt like 1 did on Veterans
Day when I stood over Vinnie's grave . . . guilty!

84

The next week I started my piano lessons. The
teacher is Miss Orenberg and she comes to the house
every Thursday from four till quarter to five. She has
bad breath, which I reported to my mother after the
first lesson.

"Maybe she ate something she shouldn't have," my
mother said. "Diane Hoober says she's an excellent
teacher. Lisa took from her for years."

But Miss Orenberg smelled the same the following
week. When I told my mother she said she'd see what
she could do. After that my mother greeted Miss Oren-
berg at the door with Chlorophyll candies. "Take one,"
she'd say. "It'll refresh you for Tony's lesson."

After the fourth lesson Miss Orenberg asked me did
I practice much. I told her about fifteen minutes a day.
Miss Orenberg said she found that hard to believe.
And I told her if she didn't believe me she could ask
my mother because it was true. Then she said I wasn't
progressing as fast as she had hoped I would. And I
said that was because I wasn't musically inclined and I
really didn't want piano lessons m the first place- I
wanted to add that I didn't like her, or her breath or
the way she talked, but I didn't.

That night I told my mother that I was never gomg
to learn to play the piano and there was nothing she
could do about it and that if she made me take any
more lessons my pains were going to get worse! And
why didn't she ask Dr. Holland if it was good for me
to have to take piano lessons when I didn't want to at
all!

The next day Pop said, "Tony . . . your mother and
I have decided that if you don't want to take piano
lessons you don't have to."

"Really?" I asked. "You really mean it?" I looked

85

at my mother. She didn't answer me but she nodded
her head a little.

Pop said, "We're not going to force you to do some-
thing you hate. I just wish you'd remember that we
only want you to have every opportunity we couldn't
give your brothers."

I wanted to say to let me alone and stop trying to
shove everything that Ralph and Vinnie didn't have
down my throat! But I couldn't say it because that
would have hurt their feelings and they weren't trying to
be mean. But sometimes they're so full of bull they
make me sick.

86

Then again,
maybe I won't

My parents joined the Newcomers Club at church.
They went to a couple of parties and said they met a
lot of nice people. But they still haven't been invited
to the Hoobers' house and I think my mother would
rather go there than all the other places put together.

Father Pissaro the Second visits Grandma every
week. I go to confession once a month, same as in
Jersey City. I've thought a lot about what to confess.
For a while I thought I should tell him about Lisa. But
I decided that watching her at night isn't really a sin. As
long as it doesn't hurt anyone what's so wrong about it?

There are a couple of things I'd like to talk over with
somebody. Not with Joel though and not with Marty
Endo or Scott Gold either. Whenever we have a dis-
cussion it always turns into a big joke. Maybe if we
still lived in Jersey City I'd ask Ralph. But Fm not
sure about that either. He acts so old lately. My father
said to ask him if I have questions but I know he's hop-
ing I never have any. I'm thinking about going to Ted
Gibbons ... to ask him if he ever had dreams like me
and then to find out what he did about them.

Ted is really proud of our Youth Group, And es-
pecially our basketball team. We've only lost one game
so far and even though he tells us he doesn't care who
wins, because it's how you play the game that counts, I
can tell he's pleased.

87

This coming Friday night we're playing the First
Methodist Youth Group. They're the only other team
in the league that's lost just one game. Ted said he's
going to bring a date to this game—some girl he really
likes a lot.

I'm getting used to Corky. She doesn't bother me the
way she used to. She still spends a lot of time giggling
but she's turned into a pretty good cheerleader. She
doesn't look anything like Lisa but she sure can yell
loudi For a while she tried to sit next to me in church
every Sunday but now I make sure I'm between my
mother and my father so she leaves me alone.

On Friday night my father and Ralph came to see
the big game. My team got to start. I was really in
good form. I scored six points in foul shots alone.
At the end of the first half we were leading by two
points. The Methodist guys were pretty good.  /

In the second half Marty Hndo's team took over
and we dropped two points behind. Three minutes be-
fore the end of the game Marty tripped on his shoelace
and fell flat on his face. Time out was called and we all
ran onto the court. Marty was out cold. His mother
and father were at the game and they came flying down
from the bleachers. His mother got really upset when
she saw him stretched out on the floor and she started
to cry, "Oh my God ... oh my God!" It's a good
thing Marty didn't hear her—he'd have been furious!

When Marty came to he didn't know what had hap-
pened. But when he tried to stand up he said he felt
dizzy and nauseous and he had a big bump on his head.
Ted said it could be a concussion so Mr. and Mrs. Endo
decided to take Marty straight to the hospital.

With only three minutes left to play and our team
down two points Ted called me. "Go on in. Tony. Do
your stuff-'*

Corky squealed when she saw me running in and

88

started cheering like crazy. I didn't even have a chance
to get nervous. Because 1 wasn't on the court for
twenty seconds when this big guy from First Methodist
gave me an elbow in the stomach. The referee blew his
whistle and called a personal foul.

It was very quiet. Everybody was watching me. I
thought about Ted and about Marty and about how
much we'd all like to win this game. Then I aimed and
threw the ball, nice and easy, the way Ted said to do it
when you're under pressure. Right in the basket! The
crowd started yelling and some of the guys patted me
on the backside. We were only one point behind.

First Methodist had the ball- They were stalling,
passing it back and forth, when Gregg Kusiv jumped
up and intercepted. Now it was our ball. When we got
within shooting distance of our basket Gregg passed
the ball to me. 1 dribbled around but I couldn't shoot—
I was being guarded by the b;ggest guy on their team. I
wanted to make a basket so bad! I wanted to be the
big hero! But I had no chance—so I passed it to Jim
Quinn and he put it in just as the whistle blew to end

the game.

WE WON! WE WON! Our whole Youth Group ran

onto the court and we all jumped around and hugged
each other. When Ted stepped out Corky led us in a
cheer just for him- Then I saw this blonde girl come
rushing at Ted. She threw her arms around him and
gave him a big kiss and we all stopped cheering to
watch Ted and his girlfriend and that's when it hit me.
The girl was Lisa! My Lisa, standing there kissing Ted
. . . right in public ... for everyone to see. Ted and
his moustache! It wasn't fair. She should have been
kissing me! I'm the one who won the game. Well, I
did ... didn't I? Who knows what would have hap-
pened if Marty hadn't tripped over his shoelace and
knocked himself out. Who knows?

89

While I was thinking about that Corky asked me to
go out for ice cream with her and some other kids
from our Youth Group. But all or a sudden I didn't
feel like celebrating anything. So I told her, "Some
other time maybe."

And she said, "Oh Tony!" and I knew she was really
disappointed but I didn't care much.

I went home with my father and Ralph and even
though they kept saying how great I played I didn't
want to bear it.

I called up Mrs. Endo to see how Marty was and she
said he was very groggy but that the doctor promised
he'd be okay in two days. I said I was glad to hear that.
Then I told my family how tired I was from the big
game and I went up to my room and fell asleep.

I tried not to think about Lisa. I didn't feel like hav-
ing any dreams. I just wanted to sleep and forget about
everything. But I dreamed about her and Ted and the
things they probably do when they're alone and I knew
I'd never ask Ted any of the questions I was thinking
about asking him.

Toward the end of February Frankie Bollino called.
I couldn't believe it at first.

"Hey Frankie! Is it really you?" I asked.

"None other," Frankie said.

I asked him about my old paper route, which he re-
ported was doing fine—about the old basketball game,
which they were still playing—about junior high, which
he said wasn't so bad—and about the weather, which
was dumb because it was the same as in Rosemont, ex-
cept we get more snow than Jersey City.

After that I didn't have anything else to say but
Frankie did. "Why don't you come back to see us some
time?'*

I said, "Why don't you come see me?"

90

I   Then we both laughed until Frankie said, "Okay.
When?"

"When what?" I asked.

"When should I come see you?"

I said, "Are you serious?"

He said, "Sure."

I said, "Hey, that's great! Why don't you come on
Saturday and stay overnight?"

He said, "Swell."

"Wait a second while I tell my parents," I said. I put
down the phone and ran into the other room.

"Guess who's on the phone?" I asked my mother
and father. "It's Frankie Bollino! I invited him to stay
overnight this Saturday."

My father said, "I'll pick him up in New York ... at
the tubes. That'll save him a train ride out here."

"Thanks, Pop," I called, already on my way back to
the phone. I picked up the receiver and said, "Hey
Frankie . . . it's all arranged. My father'U pick you up
at the tubes in New York, Saturday."

"What time?" Frankie asked.

"Oh . . . whatever time you say."

"How about eight?"

*Tn the morning?"

"Too early?" Frankie asked.

"Yeah . . . better make it around ten."

"Okay Tony. See you then."

"Right," I said and hung up.

I really felt good. I wondered why I haven't thought
about calling Frankie. I'm sure glad he called me. I went
into the living room. "How about that?" I said. "Good

old Frankie Bollino."

"You've got plenty of friends in Rosemont," my
mother said. "I don't see why you have to start up with

him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

91

"I've got nothing against Frankie," she said. "It's
just that Jersey City is a long way off and you can't see
each other very often so you might as well concentrate
on your new friends."

But my father said, "There's no friend like an old
friend! Right, Tony?"

To be honest I have to admit that I hardly ever think
about Prankie and the other guys anymore. I don't
really miss them. Still, I'm looking forward to Frankie's
visit.

I rode into the city with my father on Saturday
morning. Prankie was already there, waiting at the
tubes. He was carrying an airline bag. He recognized
our car right away and ran straight over. "Hey, old
pal!" he hollered.

"Hey Frankie!"

We sat in the back on the way home to Rosemont and
when my father pulled into our driveway, Frankie let
out a low whistle and said, "Wow! You sure have come
a long way!"

"Never mind the house," I said, embarrassed. "Come
on in."

My mother was waiting for us. "Hello Frank."

Frankie dropped his airline bag on the floor and
said, "Hiya Mrs. Miglione." He kept looking around
at the house saying "Wowl" and shaking his head.

"Well, it's nice to see you, Frank," my mother said.
I knew what she was thinking. That he didn't shake
hands like certain other persons we know.

"My mother says to tell you she sends regards and
when are you coming back to Jersey City for a visit,"
Frankie said.

"Oh, well... I've been busy," my mother said. "You
know Ralph and Angie had a baby . . . and I've been
helping out."

"This is some place!" Frankie said.

92

"Come on ... cut it out, will you!" I said, giving
Frankie an elbow in the ribs. "It's just a house."

Later I asked him how Mrs. Gorsky was and he told
me she says I was the best paper boy she ever had.
And that she misses me a lot.

"That's crazy!" I told Frankie. "She hated me."

"Well, now she hates me," Frankie said. "Say . . .
where's your grandmother? Doesn't she live with you
anymore?"

"Oh sure," I said. "But she stays in her room most
of the time. She . . . she doesn't feel too well." I don't
think I'll ever tell anyone the truth about Grandma. I'm
too ashamed.

Maxine made my favorite chicken for supper. Did she
give me a special look when she served it? I'm not sure.
I try to stay out of her way these days. I always bend
my head when she comes into the dining room so she
can't look me in the eye. I can't tell if she knows about
me or not. My sheets don't get changed every time I
have a dream but it seems to me Maxine smiles a lot
more than she used to—and always when I'm around.

"Wowl" Frankie said. "This'is just great food, Mrs.
Miglione."

"Thank you, Frank. We'll have to tell Maxine how
much you enjoyed it. She does all the cooking."

"You know," Frankie said for about the millionth
time, "this is really some place you have here." He
drank half a glass of milk. "My mother said I should
be sure to notice all the little things so I can tell her
all about it."

After supper Joel called and invited me and Frankie
over. My father announced that he and my mother were
going to a movie and that we could come along if we
wanted to.

"What are you going to see?" I asked.

"The Last Stranger;' my mother said.

93

••What's it about?" I asked.
"Love."

I looked at Frankie. "No thanks," I said. "We'll go
to Joel's."

I think Frankie was even more impressed with Joel's
house than mine. It's bigger and of course there are spot-
lights to show off the pool in the backyard.

Frankie couldn't believe the Hoobers' bedroom. He
said, "Wait till I tell my mother about this!"

I thought maybe I'd be able to see Lisa, but she was
already out on a date. She goes out just about every
Saturday night and sometimes on Fridays too. I know
because I waited up for her once or twice but she's been
coming in later and later. And she doesn't go out only
with Ted. I can tell by the different cars that pick
her up. Now I only get to see her four or five times a
week.

We went into Joel's room where he showed Frankie
his paperback collection. Frankie said it's even better
than Big Joe's.

After that Joel asked, "You guys want some beer?"

"What ... are you kidding!" I said.

*'No, I mean it. Didn't you ever drink beer?" Joel
said.

"You know I didn't." I told him.
Frankie said, "Me neither. But I'll try it... if Tony
does too."

So we followed Joel down to the recreation room
where there's a really fancy bar with barstools and
everything. We started with one can. Joel had some
first, then passed it to me. I choked and passed it to
Frankie. We had another can when we polished off that
one and then Joel asked us did we want to taste some-
thing even better.

Frankie said anything would be better than that

94

| So Joel got out four bottles and lined them up on top of
I the bar. Scotch, rye, vodka and brandy. He said we'd
have to drink from the bottles because if we messed up
any glasses his father would know we'd been fooling
around.

We started with the scotch, which burned my throat.
Then the vodka, which Joel said has no taste at all and
should be gulped because it would make us feel good
really fast. Then the rye, which bumed my throat some
more. After that Joel passed around the brandy be-
cause he said that was for after dinner.

That's when Frankie fell off the barstool and started
to laugh. Wow! I never heard such a crazy laugh. I
mean, he just stretched out on the floor and laughed
like a nut!

"Who's your friend?" Joel asked me.

*'I dunno. I never saw him," I said. It was hard to
get the words out.

"Me neither. Mussbe some drunk!'*

"Yeah. Mussbe." I got off my barstool and sat down
on the floor next to Frankie. "Hey Misser ... you some

drunk or what?"

Frankie just laughed, so I started laughing too. But
when I lay down on the floor the whole room started
spinning—around and around and around. I couldn't
make it stop for anything.

"Hey Joel... the room's going round. Commere and

see."

So Joel stretched out next to us and be said, "Yeah
. . . sure is. All aroun ... all aroun and aroun and
aroun . . . like a merry-go-roun."

"I tole you," I said. "Din I tell you? Whole room's

goin roun!"

"Yeah," Joel said. "You tole me. Know what?"

-What?" I said.
"I don feel so good."

95

"Me neither."

*'Les go outside ... get some air."

Since Frankie was still laughing me and Joel had to
lift him up and drag him over to the back door. We
went outside with no coats or anything.

"Oh nice," Joel said. "Thas so nice."

"Real nice," I said. "Good clean air."

"Know what?" Frankie said. "Is cold out here."

"Yeah," I said. "Nice cold clean air."

"Know what?" Joel said. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"No kiddin?" I said. "Me too."

"Les be sick together," Joel said.

"Sure, les be sick in the bushes," I said.

Joel said, "Yeah. The bushes is a good place to be
sick. Is good for the bushes... like fertilizer."

Ail three of us were sick together. When we finished
I grabbed Frankie and pulled him home by the sleeve.
Was it cold outi

When we got to the front of my house Frankie said,
"Wait one more minute, Tony."

I was freezing and feeling pretty bad besides. "What
now?" I groaned.

Frankie laughed and said, "I'm gonna fertilize your
bushes too."

Well, we made it into bed and we weren't sick again
but the next morning I told Frankie he looked green
and he told me that if I thought he looked green I
should just see me. So we staggered to the mirror to-
gether and discovered we were both kind of green. Only
it didn't feel as funny as it sounded. Besides my color,
my head felt like six hammers were trying to split it
open at once.

Since it was Maxine's day 08 nobody bothered us
about getting up and having breakfast. We finally man-
aged to get dressed around noon. Then we had to sneak
next door for our Jackets.

96

Frankie left late in the afternoon after telling me
and my parents what a great time he'd had. Privately
he told me what a terrific town Rosemont was and he
sure wished his father could strike it rich too.

At the front door my mother took a good look at us
and said, "You sure you're all right, Frank?"

Prankie said, "Sure thing, Mrs. Miglione."

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "You
both look like you're coming down with something."

The following Saturday I had to put on my best
sports jacket and tie because me and my father were
going to lunch with J. W. Fullerbach. I hate ties. They
choke me. I have trouble swallowing my food when
I'm wearing one.

Why do I have to waste a sunny Saturday anyway?
Why can't I stay home and loaf around—or play ball—
or even go to a movie? Because J. W. Fullerbach wants
to meet me. Pop says. Why should he want to meet me?
I can't figure it out.

When I was all ready my mother inspected me. She
even looked inside my ears tod checked my fingernails
about twenty times. I offered to take off my shoes and
socks so she could look at my toenails too but she
didn't Think that was very funny.

"You'll remember to shake hands and say sir!" she
reminded me.

"How could I forget that?" I asked.

"We drove into the city and met Mr. Fullerbach at
his club. I expected him to be very big, with silver hair
and powerful hands. But he turned out to be short and
pudgy. My father is much taller and looks more like
J. W. Fullerbach as I'd imagined him than J. W. Fuller-
bach really looks himself. Besides being three-quarters
bald, Mr. Fullerbach has a twitch in his right eye. I
tried to hide my surprise at his appearance. I shook

97

hands and said, "I'm very happy to meet you, sir," in
best Rosemont style.

*'So this is the youngest Miglione! Right, Vie?"

•That's him, J. W." my father said.

"Well, Tony," Mr. FuUerbach said. "Your fathers a
very smart man. But you know that, don't you?" He
put an arm around my father's shoulder. "Did you
know since your father sold me the rights to bis electrical
cartridges we've moved up seventeen points on the
market?"

I smiled.

"What do you think of that, Tony?" Mr. FuUerbach
asked.

"It's very good," I said. "sir."

"Yes, it's good all right!" Mr. Fullerbach laughed.
"Right, Vie?"

"Right, J. W."

When we sat down to lunch I didn't know what to
order because the menu was all in French. But Mr.
Fullerbach told the waiter to bring three steaks medium
rare, so I didn't have to worry. If you ask me my father
was just as relieved as I was.

Mr. Fullerbach attacked his food. He washed every
mouthful down with water. His glass was refilled four
times just during the steak. We had vanilla ice cream
for dessert. Mr. Fullerbach didn't ask us if we wanted it,
he just ordered. I'd have preferred chocolate chip mint,
but I ate my vanilla. Mr. Fullerbach reached over and
patted my hand. "Some day. Tony . .. some day I hope
you'll join the company too. After college of course."

"Of course." I said. "sir."

"Yes, that will be nice. You'll join us just like your
brother Ralph." He waved his spoon at me. "I haven't
got any sons of my own you know."

Ralph! I thought. What's he talking about? What does
he mean about Ralph joining the company? That's

98

crazy! I couldn't wait for lunch to be over. I wanted to
be alone with my father. I wouldn't dare come right out
and ask about Ralph in front of Mr. Fullerbach. But
after lunch they each smoked a whole cigar and had
two brandies. I couldn't even look at the brandy. Just
the smell was enough to remind me of last week and
Joel's party. I excused myself and went to the men's
room.

Finally Mr. Fullerbach said goodbye and we thanked
him for the delicious lunch and at last I was alone with
my father on the expressway back to Rosemont.

"What did he mean about Ralph?" I asked.

"Ralph is going into the business."

"How can he do that? He's a teacheri What about
his job?"

"Oh, he'll finish out the school year and start over
the summer." My father never took his eyes off the
road.

Why? Why? I wanted to scream. Ralph isn't even
scientific. Everybody knows that! I wanted to grab the
steering wheel and pull up the emergency brake and
stop the car with a huge jerk. I-wanted to yell at my
father. Go ahead and tell me the truth. Ralph's selling
out. SAY IT ... SAY IT!

I managed to avoid Ralph for a month. I said I was
too busy to go to Queens on Sundays—I had homewoik
to do. When I heard Ralph was going to drop over I'd
drop out—to the library, to Joel's, to the movies.

Then I found out Ralph and Angie were looking for a
house in Rosemont—that the apartment in Queens was
getting crowded—that Vicki needed a room of her own.
I knew I wasn't going to be able to get away with pre-
tending my brother didn't exist. The next time he came
over I decided to stay home.

99

"Hi Kid," Ralph said, trying to box me. "Long-time-
no-see!"

"I've been busy," I said, stepping away from him.

"Did you hear we're looking for a house?" Ralph
asked, picking up Vicki and holding her up to the ceil-
ing.

"I heard."

"Did you hear I'm going in with Pop?" Now he shook
Vicki up and down trying to make her laugh.

"I heard.*' Vicki didn't laugh. She started to cry.

"Well, Kid . . . you don't sound very glad." Ralph
put Vicki back in her infant seat. "You'll be able to
see us every day if you want to ... like the old days!"

Who cares? I wanted to yell. Who cares about see-
ing you every day! I felt like grabbing Ralph and shak-
ing him. I wanted to ask him where was The Wizard.
To yell, Hey Ralph . . . you stink! You're a sellout.
You've gone soft—Just like Mom—just like Pop—
just like Angle!

Instead I said, "Excuse me please." And I ran up-
stairs to the bathroom.

I had awful pains.

On my way up the stairs I heard Ralph ask, "What's
with the Kid?"

A year ago he wouldn't have had to ask. He'd have
known!

In the bathroom I considered leaving Rosemont to
make my own way in the world. I could probably go to
Jersey City and get my paper route back. But that
was dumb! I'd never do it. It was just a thought. Any-
way, I don't want to live in Jersey City again.

When I canned down enough to unlock the bathroom
door I went down the hall to Grandma's room. I
haven't been in there for at least two weeks. Some-
times I forget she even lives with us. I stood there for a
while, thinking that me and Grandma have a lot in

100

common. We're both outsiders in our own home.

I knocked on the door and called, "Grandma."
When Grandma opened it and saw me she turned ofi
her TV. Then she sat down in her chair and held her
hands out to me. I went to her. I started to cry. I
kneeled down and buried my head in her lap. She
stroked my hair. For a minute I felt like a little kid
again. Grandma used to hold me like that when 1 fell
down or when I was scared.

101

Then again,
maybe I won't

It didn't snow once in March- I was hoping it would.
Joel got a toboggan for his birthday and he said the
next time it snows we can try it out at the country club.
Their golf course has plenty of hills. Now it looks like
we'll have to wait until next winter.

I keep remembering last March and all that rain.
My mother sent my winter jacket to the cleaner early
this year. She got me something new called an -in-be-
tween coat to wear instead.

After school me and Joel, Marty Endo and Scott
Gold started hanging out at The Bon Sweete Shop. If
the weather is too bad for bikes we can walk. We al-
ways sit at the same table and always have the same
waitress. She has this wild red hair and she chews gum.
Her name is Bernice. She doesn't like us—you can tell.
But she has to wait on us Just the same. She stands
there with her hands on her hips, cracking her gum
and asks, "What you kids gonna put away today?"

Usually we have milkshakes. Sometimes Marty Endo
has a hamburger and a milkshake. He has this thing
about hamburgers. I mean, he really loves them! First he
smells the meat. Then when he's done smelling it he
eats it, making these little noises the whole time. He
calls them his happy noises.

One reason Bemice doesn't like us is we're sloppy.
Somebody always spills something on the floor. The

102

other reason is the tip. Joel thought up this idea of leav-
ing Bernice's tip in the bottom of a milkshake glass.
Every day we put it in a different glass, so she has to
hunt for it. One day we didn't have any change except
pennies. So we chipped in ten pennies apiece and put
them in the bottom of Joel's chocolate milkshake glass
which wasn't quite empty. Bemice really hollered when
she saw it. By that time we were paying the cashier
and getting ready to leave.

Bemice ran over to us and grabbed me by the collar.
She's pretty big and I had to look way up to see her
face.

"You lousy little kids! I oughta tan your hides! I
oughta . . .M

"Get your hands off my friend!" Joel said. "Or I'll
call the manager." He sounded like he meant it—no
fooling around.

Bemice growled, "You'd like that wouldn't you!
You'd like to see me get fired! What do you little rich
kids know about earning a living? You think it's funny
to make me fish around for a few lousy pennies? Well,
let me tell you something. ^ need that money. And
there's no place you can stick it that I won't reach in
to get it! Your crummy forty pennies buys me a loaf
of bread. Did you ever think of that!"

All this time Bemice still had me by the collar and
I thought I was going to strangle. But as soon as she
finished her speech she let me go. We got out of The
Bon Sweete. Shop in a hurry.

After that we never sat at a table in Bernice's sec-
tion and we left our tip on the table—not in a milk-
shake glass. None of us ever mentioned the incident,
but I know I thought about Bemice buying that bread
with our pennies for a long time.

One afternoon I needed some notebook paper so I
stopped into the comer store next to The Bon Sweete

103

Shop. Joel was with me. I decided as long as I was in
the store I needed a new ballpoint pen too. My old
one leaks on my fingers and smudges a lot. The pens
were displayed in a mug, practically in front of the
cash register. While I was deciding what color pen to
buy Joel picked two out of the mug and put them in
his pocket. I think he took one ballpoint and one felt
tip. They each cost 49(i- Joel didn't look at me. He
didn't look at anybody. He just smiled his crooked
smile and kind of hummed a little tune.

I was furious. I mean really furious! I wanted to
punch Joel in the nose. I wanted to mess up his angel
face—to see the blood ooze out of his nostrils and
trickle down his chin. I wanted to look him in the eye
and say, "I've had it with you, Joel! You stink! Who do
you think you're fooling? You think I'm afraid to tell
the manager, don't you! Well, I'm not!" Then I'd
beckon with my finger and call, "Sir ... sir ..."

"Yes, young man?" the manager would say, running
toward me. By that time I'd have Joel by the back of
his collar the way Bernice had me that day. "I've
caught one of those shoplifting kids, sir," I'd say. "If
you'll check his pockets you'll find two pens. A blue
ballpoint and a black felt tip." The manager would
check and pull out the pens. Then he'd call the police.
The police would arrest Joel and drag him off to the
Juvenile Detention Center. My picture would make the
front page of the Rosemont Weekly.

Soon after I would be beaten up in the boys' room
and left bleeding on the cold floor. My attackers would
never be caught and I would live in fear forever.

When we left the store Joel was still smiling but I
was doubled over with pain. I must have caused quite
a commotion. I think I fell onto the sidewalk clutch-
ing my stomach and a lot of people gathered around
me.

104

Joel was the one who phoned my mother from the
corner store. My mother rushed me to Dr. Holland's
office. He admitted me to the North Shore Hospital.

I ended up in the children's ward and was the second
oldest person there. The oldest was a boy of fifteen who
had his leg in traction and told me he'd be like that for
two months and that he'd never ski again as long as he
lived. He told me this from his bed across the room.
At that time I was flat on my back being fed intrave-
nously through a vein in my foot, which didn't hurt but
wasn't exactly fun either.

Of course this wasn't the first thing that happened.
What I remember first is my mother bending over
my hospital bed moaning, "Tony . . . Tony . . ." the
way she says, "Vinnie . . . Vinnie . . ." on Veterans
Day, So right away I figured I was dying.

The first two days my mother stayed with me all the
time. Then Dr. Holland suggested she come only during
regular visiting hours so the hospital routine wouldn't be
upset.

I have three doctors. Dr. Holland, who promised
me I'm not going to die yet; a specialist named Dr.
Riley, who's in charge of my intestines; and a psy-
chiatrist named Dr. Fogel, who says that I'm not crazy,
because when I heard he was a shrink I thought I was.
And I wasn't the only one. My mother nearly had a fit.

She said, "There's nothing wrong with Tony's mind.
He's not crazy. And I don't want any psychiatrist ask-
ing him a lot of questions. They're the ones that make
you crazy with their crazy questions."

My father said, "Cannella, Dr. Fogel is going to
help Tony with his problems." He was much calmer
than my mother.

"What problems? A thirteen-year-old boy doesn't
have any problems! These doctors just want your

105

money, Vie. In Jersey City this would never have hap-
pened. He's got some gas pains. That's all."

"Mom!" Ralph said. "You're making matters worse
by discussing this in front of Tony."

My mother looked at me. "So now I'm crazy too!"
She gave a funny laugh that sounded more like a hiccup.
"Maybe I need Dr. Fogel," she said.

"I like him," I told her. "And I'm not crazy!"

"Of course you're not," my mother said. "What a
thing to say. Don't even think about it." With that she
got up off the foot of my bed and made a face at my
father and brother like it was their fault I mentioned
such a terrible thing.

I stayed in the hospital ten days. I slept an awful
lot. Probably because they fed me so many pills. A
lot of tests were done on me too. Sometimes they lasted
all morning. I had to drink barium again. My insides
were X-rayed. I had four separate blood tests—two
from my arms and two from my fingers. I wasn't al-
lowed to eat anything but soft, mushy foods like boiled
eggs and Jello.

Mom, Pop and Ralph came to see me every day.
Angie came every other day. I received eleven pairs
of pajamas. One pair from my Aunt Rose and Uncle
Lou. One pair from my twin uncles and aunts. Two
pairs from Mrs. Hoober. Two pairs from Angie and
Ralph. Four pairs from my mother and one pair from
Marty Endo and Scott Gold.

I got six books, four games and two bunches of flow-
ers—one from my homeroom class with a card every-
body signed—and one from my Youth Group. I also
got a pair of knitted bedroom slippers from Grandma—
they itched my feet. And a photo album from Maxine.
Maybe she thought I could put my X-rays in it Joel
sent me a card and included a pen in the envelope. I

106

think it was the felt tip one he stole- Corky wrote me a
letter.

Dear Tony,

I am very sorry to hear that you're sick. I hope
you'll be better soon. I really mean that. I miss
you a lot. Homeroom isn't any fun when you're
absent. I really mean that, even if you don't care
about me. Because even if you don't I still care
about you. And 1 mean, REALLY! Because I
think you're swell. And that's the truth.

I hope when you get better you'll come to a
party I'm planning. I don't know when it will be.
Maybe not until the summer. But I'm planning
it anyway. Except I wouldn't even have it if you
weren't belter or if you won't come. Because I
think you're the nicest boy I know and that's the
truth. So please get well soon and I really mean
that.

Love and things^

Corky
(Kalhryn Thomas)

I didn't tear up her letter. Maybe some day I'll feel
like reading it again.

The best visitor of all came on the sixth day—Lisa.
I couldn't believe it when I saw her walk in. First I
thought she was there to see somebody else. But she
came right over to my bed. She ruffled my hair and
pulled up a chair.

She said. "Joel couldn't come because he's too young.
You have to be at least fourteen. So I'm here in bis
place. He sent you this. . . .'*

She handed me a brown bag and I took it. Inside

107

was a paperback book full of clips and underlinings.

"He's been working on it just for you." Lisa smiled.
"But I think you'd better hide it ... maybe under
your pillow or something. . . . Here, let me . . .'* she
said, bending over and slipping the book under my
pillow. She was so close I could smell her. She smelled
really nice . . . like spring.

Right then was the perfect time for me to tell Lisa
that I love her. That I've been watching her since
Thanksgiving. That I'm really older than she thinks be-
cause I started school three years late since my real
family are gypsies who roam the world. I was adopted
by the Migliones who brought me to Rosemont. And
even though we're the same age (almost) I've had so
much experience—much more than her—that we'd be
perfect together. When I get out of the hospital we can
run off and never be seen again. We'll live on some
deserted island and all we'll wear is flowers.

I must have dozed off while I was thinking these
things because when I woke up it was dark and Lisa
was gone.

A few days later Dr. Holland told me that all my
tests were fine and that my pains were functional, mean-
ing not caused by anything physically wrong. He was
turning me over to Dr. Fogel who could help me get
well.

When I came home from the hospital it was spring
vacation so I had the week off. On Tuesday I went to
Dr. Fogel's office. My mother didn't come in with me.
She dropped me off outside and said she'd be back in
an hour.

I only saw Dr. Fogel once in the hospital, but he
seemed pretty nice. And I wasn't scared about my
appointment because he told me when I come to his
office we'll just talk.

108

His nurse took my name and showed me in. Dr.
Fogel was sitting behind his desk. "Hello Tony," he
said. I wondered if I was supposed to lie down on his
couch. In the movies that's what people do.

So I asked, "Where should I sit?"

He said, "Any place you're comfortable."

I chose the chair next to his desk and waited for
him to start. He smiled at me.

"I'm glad I'm out of the hospital." I said. "I don't
like being sick."

"Nobody does," Dr. Fogel said.

"Yeah . . . well, I really got mad at this gliy I know
because he took some pens from the store and he
didn't pay and I didn't know what to do. And I'll tell
you something . . . it's not the first time either. I mean,
maybe I should report him. When I don't know what
to do I get sick sometimes."

Dr. Fogel nodded.

"And then there's my mother and father . . . well,
especially my mother. She really bums me up lately.
You know what she did to Grandma?"

Dr. Fogel shook his head.

"Well . . . she won't let her cook anymore and
that's what Grandma loved to do. She's always cooked
for us. So now my mother won't let her and Grandma
stays up in her room all the time and she's miser-
able. Only she can't tell me how miserable she is be-
cause she can't talk—because she had cancer of the
larynx. . . . You know what?"

Dr. Fogel shook his bead again.

"Sometimes I think about getting cancer. One time
I thought my father had it and I got really scared. But
the thing is ... my mother wasn't this bad in Jersey
City. At least I don't think so. Or maybe she was and
I was too dumb to know it. That's where we used to
live ... in Jersey City. . . . She's really a phony. My

109

mother is really a phony. That's what I think. I'd love
to tell her I think so."

"Why don't you?" Dr. Fogel asked.

"Oh . . . then she'd start bawling. . . ."

"And how would you feel about that?"

"I'd feel really bad. I don't like to see her cry."

Dr. Fogel nodded and smiled.

"And I'll tell you something else. My brother is get-
ting just like her. Otherwise why would he go into the
business? What does he know about electrical car-
tridges?"

I got up then and walked around the room. There
was a checkerboard set up on one table and a deck of
cards laid out on another. I picked up a checker. "Who
plays?" I asked.

Dr. Fogel said, "Anyone who wants to. Do you feel
like a game?"

"No. I like chess." That reminded me of Pop. I fid-
dled with the checker some more and said, "My father's
really something. He's a good one! He just goes along
with everything. Nothing bothers him. He's on top of
the world. I don't know ... I Just can't figure him
out."

Dr. Fogel grunted.

"What makes me mad is why should I care so much
about what they do? Any of them? Like Joel ..." I
walked over to the window and looked down. "Why
should I care if he wants to steal a lot of junk?"

"But you do?" Dr. Fogel asked.

"Yeah ... it really gets me!" I walked back to my
chair and sat down. "Sometimes I think that people
can see inside me ... that they know what I'm think-
ing and everything. I don't want anyone to know what
I'm thinking. Like that time Joel called me chicken.
I didn't want to make that phone call. I know they

110

can trace phone calls. So why should I care if Joel calls
me chicken?"

"But you do?"

"Yeah ... I guess so. And another thing . . . some-
times I wish we still lived in Jersey City and other times
I'm glad we don't. You know what? I like having
plenty of money. Oh—I don't know what I want!"

I stood up then. So did Dr. Fogel. He said, "Well,
Tony . . . we've had a very good first session. I'll see
you again next week."

That's it? I used up the whole hour? I talked too
much. I shouldn't have told him all those things. That
was stupid. Next time I won't talk at all. Let him do all
the talking.

When I got outside my mother was waiting in the
car. I got in and she asked, "How did it go?"

"Dr. Fogel said it went good," I told her.

"I hope so," she said. "He's very expensive."

When vacation was over I went back to school. I
didn't have many pains and everyone said I was look-
ing great, especially Corky. People always say that
when they know you've been in the hospital.

Ill

Then again,
maybe I won't

A funny thing happened to Vicki in the spring. She got
better looking. I mean as far as babies go she isn't too
bad. She looks more like those pictures you see in
magazines than like a plucked chicken. She's much
fatter than she used to be and she laughs a lot Even I
make funny faces at her to hear her laugh. Of course
I don't go near her when she needs to be changed.
Neither does my father or Ralph if he can help it. Vicki
is around a lot because Angle's always out with the
real estate lady looking for her house.

One sunny Saturday afternoon my mother got Vicki
all wrapped up in her carriage and asked me to take
her around the block for a walk.

"Me?" I said. "You want me to take her for a walk?
All by myself?'*

"Why not?" my mother said. "You're her uncle
aren't you?"

"Well, yes. I mean sure .. . but..." I began. "But
I don't know anything about babies."

"What do you have to know to take her for a walk?
You just push the carriage."

"Well," I said. "I don't know."

"Come on. Tony," my mother coaxed. "I have to
get to the store for an hour. And anyway, Maxine is
here if you run into trouble."

"Well." I said. "I'll try it."

112

"There's nothing to it. Just push the carriage and
she'll fall asleep."

So I pushed—first back and forth in our driveway
to get the feel of it. I felt pretty stupid. If I hadn't
known Joel was at the dentist's office I might never
have done it. I could just imagine what he would
think of me pushing a baby around.

Me and Joel never talk about what happened at the
comer store. I don't know if he knows I saw him take
the pens or what. We act just like we did before I got
sick. I asked Dr. Fogel do I have to report Joel? And
he said, "That's up to you. Tony." Dr. Fogel never gives
me any definite answers.

As it turned out I was mighty glad I decided to watch
Vicki. Because as I was pushing her around who should
back out of the Hoobers* driveway but Lisa, in her
mother's car. I know she's practicing up for her driver's
test. I also know that the first time she backed out of
the garage she did it without raising the garage door
first and the car went halfway through the door. The
Hoobers had to get a new garage door and Lisa wasn't
allowed to go out on any dates that weekend which
was good for me because it meant I got to watch her
that Friday and Saturday night.

This time she backed out okay. When she saw me
she slowed up and waved. "Hi Tony. You haye a real
live baby in there?"

"Yeah," I said. "My niece, Vicki."

Lisa stopped the car. jumped out and slammed the
door shut. She ran over to me, peeked into the car-
riage and said, "OhI She's adorable. I simply adore
babies! I'm mad about them. I just love theml"

I got the message.

"Can I hold her?" Lisa asked.

"Well. I don't know. She's supposed to take a nap.**

"Well, can I push the carriage?"

113

This was really funny. Lisa asking me all these ques-
tions like I was in charge or something. If I'd known
how she felt about babies I sure would have offered
to take care of Vicki before this!

So I let Lisa push Vicki but I walked right along-
side her. I knew I was growing because now I come
up to Lisa's neck. I figure she's as tall as she's going to
get and I'm just starting to grow so I'll wind up a lot
bigger than her.

"Listen, Tony . . ." Lisa said. "If you've got some-
thing to do I don't mind watching the baby myself."

"Oh no! I couldn't do that," I said. "I'm responsible
for her."

"Well, I'm a responsible person. Tony," Lisa said,
glancing sideways at me.

"No. I don't think that would be a good idea. Some-
thing might happen if I left you alone with her."

Lisa stopped pushing and faced me. "Listen, Tony
... I know you know all about the car and the garage
door and all that, but I wouldn't dream of letting any-
thing happen to the baby. It's all rightl Really, I can
take care of her myself."

"No!" I said so loud I startled myself.

"Well, if that's the way you're going to be about it!"

"Ill just walk along with you," I said. "You can pre-
tend it's just you and the baby if you want. After all.
she is my niecel"

After that we didn't have much to say to each other.
Lisa pushed and I walked behind her. I considered
asking Lisa why she always gets undressed with the
shades up but decided that would be stupid. My story
about the gypsies would have to wait too. I didn't feel
this was the right time.

We walked for an hour. Last week I told Dr. Fogel
about my binoculars and how I watch Lisa. I told

114

him I've even seen her naked. I thought he'd be really
surprised. But all he said was, "How does that make
you feel?" So I told him the truth. I told him that I like
to watch her. That it makes me excited. Dr. Fogel
didn't tell me to stop doing it. And I'm glad. Because
I don't know if Fd be able to. I haven't told him about
my dreams yet. Sometimes I want to, but I just can't.

When we got back to my house Lisa thanked me
very much for allowing her to help with Vicki and I
said, "Oh, that's okay."

She told me she'd babysit if my sister-in-law ever
needed her and she'd even do it for free because the
baby is so adorable. I told her I'd keep that in mind.

After Lisa went home I bent down and whispered to
Vicki, "Thanks pal. You got me alone with Lisa. You're
not so bad after all."

My mother told me I'd done a fine job and she was
proud of me.

The end of April Lisa got her driver's license and
her own Corvette—white with red leather seats. She
was so excited she offered to take me and Joel for a
ride.

As soon as we got out of town Lisa started doing
about eighty miles an hour. I thought she was going to
get us all killed.

Joel screamed, "Hey Lisa . . . slow down!"

Lisa laughed and her hair blew all over her face.
By that time me and Joel, who were sharing a bucket
seat, were hanging onto each other and making noises
somewhere between laughing and crying. I closed my
eyes so I wouldn't have to see the road. Lisa drove
like a maniac. I vowed never to get into her car again.
Not for anything! Should I be lucky enough to get out
alive this time, that is.

115

Finally Lisa pulled off the road and came to a
screeching halt. Me and Joel untangled ourselves and
he started in on her.

"You're crazy, Lisa! I always thought so, but now I
know it! Didn't you leam anything in Driver Ed?"

Lisa lit a cigarette and took a long puff.

Joel said to me, "You see, she's got a death wish!"

"I do not!" Lisa said. "I'm very fond of being alive."

"Well, you'd never know it," Joel hollered. "You
keep driving around like that and you're not going to
make it to eighteen."

"Don't be silly," Lisa said. "I was only trying her
out. I have no intention of driving around like that all
the time." She turned to me. "You weren't afraid, were
you. Tony!"

"Well, not afraid exactly ... but I didn't like it"

"Come off it. Tony. You were scared out of your
mind," Joel said.

"Okay ... I was," I admitted. "Sure I was scared—
right out of my mind."

Lisa laughed and kept puffing away.

"If you keep on smoking you won't have to worry
about getting yourself killed in this car. You'll be dead
of cancer," Joel said.

"Will you listen to him!" Lisa waved her cigarette
around. "All of a sudden he's my father! Just what I
need! Another George."

*'My grandmother had cancer," I told Lisa. "Of the
larynx. They had to take it out. Now she can't talk."

Lisa looked me right in the eye. "Is that true?" she

asked.

"Yes," I said. "You can. see her any time you want
to. She lives with us."

"How awful! Perfectly awful!" Lisa stubbed out her
cigarette and threw it out of the car. "She smoked, I
suppose?'*

116

"Oh yeah . . . like a fiend!" I said. Actually Grand-
ma never smoked at all. The doctors said it was just
one of those freaky things.

But Lisa took her pack of cigarettes out of her bag
and flung them out of the car. "I'm never going to touch
another weed. Never! Imagine losing your larynx!"

"While you're reforming,'* Joel said, "would you
mind driving slower on the way home.**

She did. Only sixty miles an hour. But she drove
up a one-way street the wrong way and almost got us
killed anyhow.

I enjoy thinking that I'm responsible for Lisa giving
up cigarettes even if there's nothing I can do about her
driving.

The second week in May Lisa banged up her Cor-
vette. What happened was she bumped into a tree. She
told me and Joel she couldn't imagine how the tree
got there. Lisa wasn't hurt but her car needs a new
fender and she has to spend the next three Saturday
nights at home.

Ralph and Angle are buying a house three blocks
from us. "Five bedrooms," Angie said. And does
Maxine have any friends who*d like to work for her?
Maxine said she'd ask around.

ttWhat are you going to do with five bedrooms?" I
said. "Rent them out?"

"Fill them up with kids!" Ralph said.

"We're expecting another one already," Angie
laughed, blushing. "Didn't you guess?"

"No," I said. "I didn't guess." But I thought, how
could I guess when you're still fat from having Vicki?

"Which is one of the reasons I'm going in with Pop,"
Ralph said. "Kids are pretty expensive. Especially
when you want to give them everything." Ralph and
Angie gave each other a secret smile.

117

I thought, maybe that's the trouble. Maybe kids
don't always want you to give them everything. I
looked at Ralph. I can do that without hating him
now. I can say okay, you're just ordinary, but I can't
do anything about it. I'm trying to understand his
feelings about wanting his kids to have everything. May-
be I'll be like that too. Then again, maybe I won't.
After all, I'm me. I'm not Ralph.

Well, at least I got through thinking about all that
without getting pains. I'm learning how to handle my-
self. Dr. Fogel will be glad when I tell him next week.

On May 25th me and Joel rode down to the Village
Sports Store. Now that it's spring I need a new basket-
ball net. Joel needs tennis balls for camp. He doesn't
want to go back this summer, but he has no choice.
"I've been going to camp since I'm six," he told me. "I
hate it."

"So why not switch? Go to another camp?"

"They're all the same," he said. "At least here I know
the guys already. I know what to expect."

Lisa isn't going to be around for the summer either.
She's going on a tour of the northwestern states and
Canada. Shell be gone nine weeks. What am I going
to do without her? I'll never be able to get to sleep 1

When we got to the Village Sports Store we rested
our bikes against the side of the building. Inside we
browsed around. I saw a really neat fielder's mitt. It
looked pretty expensive though.

Joel fiddled around with the tennis rackets. He tried
out two of them pretending to have a volley with me.
The reason we had to wait so long was the salesman
couldn't get away from two Rosemont ladies.

One of them said, "But Ginny, you know how I putt.
Always to the right of the hole. So I need a putter that
will send them left."

118

The salesman said, "It's your aim, Ma'am. You've
got to aim more to the left of the cup."

Then Ginny said, "It has nothing to do with her aim.
It's the way she's built."

"I don*t think so," the salesman said. "Build has
nothing to do with it. It's all aim."

Then the lady holding the putter said, "Suppose I
take it and Just try it out. Then if I still putt to the
right I'll bring it back this afternoon. You can charge
it to my husband's account."

The salesman tried a smile but you could tell he
was pretty burned up.

When he finally got rid of them he asked could he
help us. Joel told him he was interested in a tennis
racket but that he'd have to come back with his father
for that. "In the meantime I'll take two cans of good
tennis balls," Joel said.

The salesman showed him the two brands they car'
ried and Joel picked what he wanted. He paid for
them, counted his change and took the white bag with
Village Sports Store written across it

"Anything for you?" the salesman asked me.

"Yes," I said. "I need a new basketball net ... and
Fd like to know how much that neat fielder's mitt costs
too."

"Which one?" he asked. "The/re all neat. .. you'll
have to point it out to me."

"Okay," I said, following him to the other end of
the store where the mitts were displayed.

The salesman told me the mitt I liked was $37.50.
I thought that was a lot of money for one fielder's mitt
so I said Fd have to think about it. He told me to take
my time thinking while he went to the stockroom for
my basketball net. I walked back to the cash register
where Joel was waiting. I wanted to know if he thought
$37.50 was too much for a mitt. But I never asked him

119

because he was smiling his crooked smile and humming
some tune.

I thought, oh no! Please, Joel. I don't want to be sick
again. I don't want to go back to the hospital. I know
what you've done. I can tell by just looking at you.
What'd you take this time, Joel? What?

This was no good. I had to calm down. I could feel
my stomach tighten. I'd do what Dr. Fogel taught me.
I'd have a talk with myself inside my head. I know
I'm tense. But I will be all right. I will not be sick.

"Let's go," Joel said.

I could report him now. I could yell for the sales-
man and say, "This guy stole something from your
store." I thought about doing that as I followed Joel
outside. He got on his bike. Just as he was about to
peddle off two men came running out of the store. One
wore eyeglasses and a turtleneck. The other had red
hair and freckles. They ran right up to Joel and the one
with the glasses said, "Okay son . . . let's have the
golf balls."

They know, I thought. This is it. This is really it.
He's swiped something and they know about it. Good
going, Joell You idiot.

"What golf balls?" Joel asked, looking innocent.

"Come on son ... I saw you take them," red hair
said.

"Saw me take what?" Joel asked.

I just stood there watching.

"Don't make this more difficult than it already is,"
eyeglasses said. "We've just installed closed circuit TV
because of shoplifters. So we know you've got the golf
balls."

"I bought tennis balls," Joel insisted. "I bought two
cans of tennis balls and I paid for them."

Red hair grabbed the bag out of Joel's hand and

120

opened it. He took out three packs of golf balls and
held them up. "Go ahead," he called to the salesman
who had waited on us. "Make the call.*'

"Oh, those golf bails," Joel said, trying to laugh.
But the laugh came out like a puppy's yelp. "My father
asked me to buy those for him. Here," he said, fumbling
around in his pocket and coming up with a ten dollar
bill. "I'll pay for them now. I Just forgot, that's all."

"Never mind," red hair said. "You should have
thought about it before. It's too late now."

"Tell them. Tony!" Joel shouted. "Tell them I just
forgot to pay!"

I didn't say anything.

"Tell them!" he screamed. "You tell them or PIT
never speak to you again!"

So don't, I thought. Who did he think he was,
threatening me! I can get along without you, Joel. I
just realized, I can get along fine without you!

"S. hate you," Joel whispered, looking at me. Then
he turned away and began to cry. He bent over his
handlebars and buried his head in his arms.

I couldn't stand another minute of it. I turned and
started to walk my bike away. But the salesman called,
"Hey . . . you forgot your net."

"My net?"

"Yes, your basketball net."

"Oh."

"You want it anyway?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. "How much is it?'*

"$2.62 including tax."

I handed him the exact amount and he gave me my
package. I put it in my basket and hopped on my bike.

Red hair and eyeglasses were walking Joel back into
the store.

"Did you set him up, kid?" the salesman asked.

121

"I didn't have anything to do with it, sir," I told him.

"Maybe not I have no proof," he said. "But if I
were you I'd be a lot more careful about who I run
around with in the future."

So when things finally caught up with Angel Face
I had to be accused of setting him up. That's really
something! Me—a criminal. Me—with my nervous
stomachi

All these months of wondering what to do about
Joel were over. Just like thati And not even because of
me—because of a crummy closed circuit TV. I should
feel relieved. I should feel happy, I told myself. But
all the way home I thought . . . Good old Joel . . .
that lousy creep . . . fixed up a paperback Just for me
when I was in the hospital . . . yeah, but if it hadn't
been for him I might never have gotten sick in the first
place ... he told Bernice to take her hands off me,
didn't he ... sure he did ... what could she do to
him . . . he's my best Rosemont friend ... at least he
was . .. well, wasn't he ... what is a friend, anyway?

By the time I got home I figured Joel would be
locked up in jail. His father would get him a good
lawyer though. I wondered what my mother would
think about Joel being sent to the Juvenile Detention
Center. I probably wouldn't see him for years. Well,
that's okay with me. I don't want to see him. The
way he screamed at me. The way he criedl

That night after dinner my father helped me put up
my new basketball net- As I watched him work I
thought, he's a lot older than most of my friends*
fathers. After all, if Vinnie was still alive he'd be
twenty-eight. Pop's already a grandfather. I don't
know why I never thought about that before.

He still doesn't know about Joel. Neither does my
mother. I decided to let them read it in the morning

122

:    paper. Let them be really shocked. I can just see the
headline:

ROSEMONT BOY CAUGHT SHOPLIFTING
GETS TEN YEARS

When the net was fastened my father went into the
house. I stayed out and shot a few baskets. I practiced
dribbling and foul shots too. Then I fell onto the grass
and did pushups.

"Hi Tony."

I looked up. I couldn't believe it—Joel! I jumped
to my feet. "What are you doing home? I thought . . .
I thought . . ."

"Yeah. Well, the owner of the store isn't pressing
charges."

"He's not?"

"Nope. He called the cops and my father. I got a
• long lecture.'*

"That's all?"

"Yeah. Since it's my first offense nobody wants me
to have a record."

"Oh."

"That's the way it's done in Rosemont.'*

"Oh."

"I'll be back in school tomorrow."

"You will?"

"Yeah. But next year I've got to go away to school
... to some military academy." Joel reached down for
a blade of grass which he chewed on for a while. "Can
you see me in military school?"

I laughed but no sound came out. So I shook my
head.

"Well, me neither." Joel said. "But that's how
George Hoober deals with his problems. He puts them
away some place. And right now I'm problem num-

123

her one. You know . . . anything so his golf game isn't
messed upl" He picked up a stone and threw it in the
direction of his house. "I only did it for fun," he said.
"To prove I could get away with anything."

I just looked at him.

"I told them it wasn't a setup . . . that you didn't
have anything to do with it."

Was he waiting for me to say thank you? I wasn't
about to.

"Look Tony ... my father sent me over here to ask
you not to say anything about what happened. He
doesn't want it to get around."

"I won't say anything. Why should I say anything
now?"

"Well, thanks pal." Joel pretended to tip bis hat at
me but he wasn't wearing one. "See you around," he
called as he headed for home.

"Sure," I muttered. "See you around."

The next day Mrs. Hoober told my mother that Joel
was going to military school in the fall because the
young people of today need strong discipline and that
this particular military academy was just about the
best there was anywhere. And that of course Joel would
get a much finer education than at Rosemont Junior
or Senior High. My mother thought maybe I should
go too.

"I want you to have the best possible education,
Tony," she said.

But my father looked at me and said, "Let's leave
the decision to Tony this time."

I think he knows I'll be okay now—that I can face
things.

"I want to stay at Rosemont Junior," I told them.

I almost laughed. I almost laughed and said to my
mother, "If Mrs. Hoober told you Joel was going to

124

the Juvenile Detention Center would you ask me if I
wanted to go too?" But I didn't say it. And I didn't get
any pains either. Because it was funny. Funny and sad
both.

125

Then again,
maybe I won't

Now it's June 10th- I'm riding around on my bike. I'm
thinking about my birthday. That I'm going to be
fourteen.

Fourteen years is a long time to have been around.
Ifs kind of old if you really think about it.
This afternoon they're going to break ground for
our swimming pool. For the last three weeks my father's
been spending all his spare time with the man from the
Athena Pool Company. They've been drawing up
plans—where to place the diving board—where to put
the cabanas—what shape should the pool be—heated
or not heated?

Our swimming pooL

The swimming pool of the MigUone family.
I pedal faster and faster till I'm almost out of breath.
You remember the MigUone family, don't you? They
used to live in a two-family house in Jersey City. They
used to wait on line for the bathroom.

I shift into low to get to the top of the hill. Suppose
I wake up tomorrow morning and the money's all gone.
Would I care? Would I?

I'm at the top of the hill now. I laugh out loud. I
wonder if anybody hears me.

I put my feet up over the handlebars and coast all
the way down. Paster and faster—scared I'll crash into
the tree at the bottom, but not using my brakes.

126

I make it. I'm at the bottom of the hill now.

I had a funny dream last night. It wasn't about Lisa.
It was about Corky, only she looked like Lisa. But
still, I knew it was Corky. And I wasn't just looking
at her either. It was a pretty good dream. I wonder
what Corky will really look like when she's sixteen? I
think I'll ask Dr. Fogel about my dreams. Can too
many of them hurt me?

I shift gears and pedal backwards.

I think what I'll do is—I'll go home and put my
binoculars away on the top shelf of my closet—over in
the corner—so they're hard to get.

Then again, maybe I won't

127