day. “I’ll look both ways ifyou eat some fruit.”
“Do strawberry Peeps count?”
“Strawberries would be good.”
Mom grins. Her eyes are bright and lively, and her cheeks are filling out. I wish she’d eat a little better than she does, but her main food groups have always been coffee, candy, and fast food. “Lucy,” she says, “Peeps make me happy, and happiness cures cancer.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Peeps curecancer!” Mom hollers as I head out the door.
When I arrive at the bookstore, Elena and Mort are redecorating the display window that looks out onto Main Street. From the sidewalk, I see them assembling a stubby, fake Christmas tree next to a life-size Santa Claus doll that they’ve shoved into an old-fashioned school desk.
“What do you think they’re doing?”
I turn and find Michael right besideme. He’s wearing a pin-striped baseball uniform with grass stains on the elbows and knees. I’m guessing he already played today. I point to the green and red banner on the wall behind Santa. It says CHRISTMAS IN JULY.
“Ho, ho, ho,” says Michael.
“How was your game?” I ask.
“We got beat, but I did okay in the field. I got on base once, and I struck out twice.”
“You struck out?”
Michael smilesand nods. “These guys are good!”
“It’s funny that striking out makes you happy.”
“The best hitters in baseball can strike out two out of every three times they’re at bat. Striking out doesn’t make me happy, but you can’t let it get you down. It’s just part of the game.”
“That’s a good attitude.”
“Plus,” he says, “even if I were unhappy, that would change when I saw you.”
I feel my face getvery warm, and I expect my cheeks are about to turn bright red. “Thanks.”
This would probably be a good moment for Michael and me to talk, but I suddenly feel like I’ve lost the ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences.
“Want to go inside?” Michael asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Sure. Okay.”
Michael looks at me oddly. “Okay.”
There are no shoppers inside the bookstore at the moment, so Morthas the music turned up loud. He’s got the place wired up with an old-style record player and a stereo system that includes several large, boxy speakers mounted to the ceiling. Now, a vinyl album is spinning on the turntable. A huge wall of sound filled with funky horns, an orchestral string section, some massive drums, and a set of jingle bells roar out of the speakers along with an all-girl chorussinging in perfect harmony.
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We’re happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland …
Mort sticks his head out from the doorway that leads to the window display space. “I love the holidays!”
I look over his shoulder. Elena is putting twinkly, red lights on the plastic tree. “I can tell,” I shout overthe music.
Mort turns down the volume. “I’m hoping that a little bit of Christmas will get some shoppers in here. We’ve hardly even sold any of your summer reading list books. I thought we’d go through a couple dozen of those by now.”
“Sorry,” I say.
He points at a stack of To Kill a Mockingbird copies. “There’s only one thing keeping me from boxing those up and sending them back as returns.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
That makes me laugh. It’s one of the novel’s most famous lines. In fact, I can recite that entire passage from memory. So I do. “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin tokill a mockingbird.”
“That was your teacher’s favorite part of the book,” Mort tells me.
“Miss Caridas?”
Mort shakes his head. “Fat Bob.”
“Really?”
Mort nods. “He thought the author
“Do strawberry Peeps count?”
“Strawberries would be good.”
Mom grins. Her eyes are bright and lively, and her cheeks are filling out. I wish she’d eat a little better than she does, but her main food groups have always been coffee, candy, and fast food. “Lucy,” she says, “Peeps make me happy, and happiness cures cancer.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Peeps curecancer!” Mom hollers as I head out the door.
When I arrive at the bookstore, Elena and Mort are redecorating the display window that looks out onto Main Street. From the sidewalk, I see them assembling a stubby, fake Christmas tree next to a life-size Santa Claus doll that they’ve shoved into an old-fashioned school desk.
“What do you think they’re doing?”
I turn and find Michael right besideme. He’s wearing a pin-striped baseball uniform with grass stains on the elbows and knees. I’m guessing he already played today. I point to the green and red banner on the wall behind Santa. It says CHRISTMAS IN JULY.
“Ho, ho, ho,” says Michael.
“How was your game?” I ask.
“We got beat, but I did okay in the field. I got on base once, and I struck out twice.”
“You struck out?”
Michael smilesand nods. “These guys are good!”
“It’s funny that striking out makes you happy.”
“The best hitters in baseball can strike out two out of every three times they’re at bat. Striking out doesn’t make me happy, but you can’t let it get you down. It’s just part of the game.”
“That’s a good attitude.”
“Plus,” he says, “even if I were unhappy, that would change when I saw you.”
I feel my face getvery warm, and I expect my cheeks are about to turn bright red. “Thanks.”
This would probably be a good moment for Michael and me to talk, but I suddenly feel like I’ve lost the ability to form coherent thoughts and sentences.
“Want to go inside?” Michael asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Sure. Okay.”
Michael looks at me oddly. “Okay.”
There are no shoppers inside the bookstore at the moment, so Morthas the music turned up loud. He’s got the place wired up with an old-style record player and a stereo system that includes several large, boxy speakers mounted to the ceiling. Now, a vinyl album is spinning on the turntable. A huge wall of sound filled with funky horns, an orchestral string section, some massive drums, and a set of jingle bells roar out of the speakers along with an all-girl chorussinging in perfect harmony.
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening.
A beautiful sight,
We’re happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland …
Mort sticks his head out from the doorway that leads to the window display space. “I love the holidays!”
I look over his shoulder. Elena is putting twinkly, red lights on the plastic tree. “I can tell,” I shout overthe music.
Mort turns down the volume. “I’m hoping that a little bit of Christmas will get some shoppers in here. We’ve hardly even sold any of your summer reading list books. I thought we’d go through a couple dozen of those by now.”
“Sorry,” I say.
He points at a stack of To Kill a Mockingbird copies. “There’s only one thing keeping me from boxing those up and sending them back as returns.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
That makes me laugh. It’s one of the novel’s most famous lines. In fact, I can recite that entire passage from memory. So I do. “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin tokill a mockingbird.”
“That was your teacher’s favorite part of the book,” Mort tells me.
“Miss Caridas?”
Mort shakes his head. “Fat Bob.”
“Really?”
Mort nods. “He thought the author
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