Chapter 7
Sixth grade
Mylie hadn’t wanted to be his friend. In fact, the minute Granny said she had to be his friend, one morning at the breakfast
table, Mylie decided that was the last thing she wanted to do.
“He’s not from here,” Granny said. “He’s lived in Chicago his whole life, and his mama is moving him down here to live with
his granddaddy.”
“Old Dr. Washburn?” Mylie asked.
“Yes, and don’t call him that,” Granny replied, pointing a spoon at Mylie. “It’s disrespectful.”
“He doesn’t mind it,” Mylie said, and Granny kicked her under the table.
“ I mind ,” Granny said.
“Is his mama from here?” Mylie continued on. She didn’t know a lot of people who weren’t from here. She scrunched up her nose
trying to think of any.
Granny nodded. “Yes, she’s from here. She’s a few years older than your mama.”
Granny could see the question on Mylie’s eleven-year-old face before she asked it. “No, his mama isn’t leaving him here. She’s
coming, too.”
In other words, Mylie thought, his mama wasn’t like her mama. She didn’t just leave him places and run off. The thought made
her jealous.
“But his daddy just died,” Granny said. “So, I want you to be extra-special nice to him, you hear?”
Mylie shrugged. “My daddy’s dead, and nobody’s extra-special nice to me about it.”
For a moment, Granny’s face softened, and she looked sad. That made Mylie feel worse than just about anything, so she said
hurriedly, “I’ll be nice to him, Granny. I promise.”
At school, Mylie looked for the new kid. She figured he’d come in first thing in the morning the way most new kids did, but
he didn’t show up until nearly lunchtime. He was tall and skinny, with scabby knees and big, ugly glasses. He looked miserable.
Ms. Jones introduced him as Benjamin Lawrence, and he’d mumbled, “Just Ben.”
Just Ben hadn’t sat with anyone at lunch, and Mylie knew she should have invited him to sit with her and Jodi and the rest
of their friends, but they’d been too busy staring at him and wondering about him to consider actually speaking to him.
“Do you think he knows any famous people?” Jodi whispered.
“I bet he does,” their friend Sarah said. “He’s from Chicago.”
“There’s nobody famous in Chicago,” Mylie scoffed. Really, she didn’t know if that was true, but whenever she read her granny’s
Cosmopolitan magazine (secretly in the bathroom so Granny wouldn’t catch her), all it ever talked about was Los Angeles and New York.
“There’s a basketball team in Chicago,” Jessica piped up. “My brother watches them on TV.”
They all agreed that probably counted as famous.
At recess, Mylie watched Ben take a book from his backpack and walk alone to the swings, where he sat down and started to
read. If he did know anybody famous, he sure wasn’t acting like it.
Finally, she trotted over to him and plopped down in the swing next to him. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Hi. I’m Mylie. Whatcha reading?”
No answer.
“Do you know anybody famous? My friends think you do, but I don’t believe them.”
No answer.
Mylie sighed. This was tough. She usually didn’t have a hard time getting people to like her. It was one of her gifts, her
granny always said. She tried again.
“My granny says your daddy’s dead. So’s mine. He died when I was a baby, so I don’t even remember him, but my granny says
he was a real piece of work, whatever that means.”
Ben looked up at her, so she continued.
“She also says I have to be nice to you, you know, because of your dead daddy. But I told her that wasn’t really fair because
nobody’s nice to me about it. Sometimes Robbie Price tells me my daddy died because he couldn’t stand to look at my stupid
face. Stay away from him, by the way. He’s a real asshole. I’m not supposed to say that word, but Granny says it’s okay to
say that about Robbie Price.”
For a moment, Ben’s expression didn’t change. He just stared at her as if she were a bug on the sidewalk. And then, ever so
slowly, he shut his book, adjusted his glasses, and smiled.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “You talk a lot.”
“I know,” Mylie replied. “Do you want to come over after school? Granny will make us pizza rolls.”
“What’s a pizza roll?” Ben asked.
Mylie stared at him. “They don’t have pizza rolls in Chicago?”
“I don’t know.” Ben shrugged.
“Do you want to come over or not?” Mylie asked.
“Okay,” Ben replied. “But I have to ask my mom first.” He closed the book he was reading and adjusted his glasses again on the bridge of his nose. “Don’t say asshole in front of her, or she’s going to say no.”
“I won’t,” Mylie said. “But if you’re going to be my neighbor, you’re going to hear Granny say it plenty.”