Read Every Single Second Online
Authors: Tricia Springstubb
Every Single Second (21 page)
Nonni didn’t seem surprised that Nella knew about Dad. Maybe she thought Nella always knew. Nonni never stopped loving him, so it made sense she’d think Nella never did either.
“He said after PopPop died, you had to take three buses, but you never missed. He said you beaned some guy who bad-mouthed him, right in church.”
Nonni laughed. And it was wonderful, because it was her same, deep, clear laugh, bubbling up from deep in the Nonni-well. Her laugh had outwitted the stroke.
“You stood up for Dad. He says he couldn’t have made it without you.”
“Gaaa.” Now Nonni scowled. Her eyes snapped. “Garr.”
This was the first real conversation they’d had since the stroke.
“Mi ricordo,”
Nonni said. Or didn’t say, really, but somehow Nella knew it was what she’d say if only she could.
I remember.
But then, just as Dad had warned, Nonni looked worn out. The fireworks faded. Her eyes slowly closed.
T
he year they were six, Nella and Angela developed a Chutes and Ladders obsession. They played every chance they got. They always hoped to land on the square with the girl helping the injured boy. Land there and you shot up an enormous ladder, almost to the top of the board. Worst was the kids stealing cookies. Hit that square and you slid all the way back to where you started.
One afternoon Angela landed on the lucky square. Instead of shouting for joy and rocketing up the ladder, she plucked her game piece and dropped it back in the box.
“This game is dumb,” she said.
Nella couldn’t believe it. To her, games were only dumb when she lost.
“Just because you do something good doesn’t mean you get a reward,” Angela said.
Nella couldn’t believe this either.
“Yes it does! Good people win and bad people lose.”
“Not always.”
“Anyway, you’re going to win! How can you quit?”
But once Angela made her mind up about something, she wouldn’t budge. It drove Nella crazy.
(Years later, it would make all the difference.)
T
hat night, Nella watched the news. She Googled Anthony and D’Lon. Other stories had taken their place. This should have been a relief, but instead it made her furious. The media had gotten bored and tossed them aside.
But D’Lon was still dead. His boys had no father.
Anthony was still in jail. And Angela had no one.
Unless you counted Nella.
“Nella.” Mom came up behind her as she sat at the computer. “I haven’t checked my email for a while, but I did today, and there was one from the school district.” As soon as she put her hand on Nella’s shoulder, Nella knew
what she was going to say. “Getting into a magnet school was very competitive this year. More competitive than ever before. They only took . . . I forget. Some tiny percent.”
It wasn’t as if Nella ever expected to get in. Not as if she believed in magic.
“I know you tried your best. And I know you’re going to succeed, no matter what. You’re so . . .”
“It’s okay, Mom.” Nella jumped up. “You don’t have to say all that.”
Mom bit her lip. Some dried oatmeal—Nella hoped it was oatmeal—clumped the tip of her hair.
“You’ll be all right at James Garfield.” Her mother was trying to convince herself as well as Nella. “The teachers will love you. Some of the other St. A kids will be there, and you can all stick together. It won’t be so bad. Dad will drive you so you don’t have to take the—”
“I said it’s okay, Mom.”
“Maybe next year we’ll figure out how to swing St. Moloc’s.” The V between her eyes was an arrow pointing toward her heart. “More than anything, Dad and I want you to have the best education. The best everything, Nella.”
“I know,” Nella said. “I know, Mom.”
Nella tucked the stolen scarf into her pocket. The house across the street from Nonni’s was quiet, no one in sight. She slipped up onto the porch and stood for a moment,
pretending she lived here. She played an instrument, she had drawers full of silky things, and an infinitesimally cute boy was in love with her. What she yearned for and what she had were one and the same.
That, Nella thought—that had to be the definition of happiness.
She pulled the scarf from her pocket, stuffed it in the mailbox, and ran back down the steps.
It wasn’t till she was on her way to take care of Mr. T that she thought,
Clem must have gotten an email too.
Given how Mr. and Mrs. Patchett were Velcroed to their phones, Clem had read her news a long time ago.
But she hadn’t said a word.
Was that good or bad?
Bad. Bad for sure.
She turned up the walk to Clem’s front door.
“Where were you last night?”
She tripped and hit the dirt. Sam Ferraro crouched beside her.
“What?” She blinked at him.
“I waited for you here.”
Her head spun. And not from falling. “You did?”
“For a century. See this? It’s gray hair.”
A boy waited for her. This boy. Waited and waited. For
her
.
“Why didn’t you come?” he asked.
“I . . . I can’t tell you.”
He thought she was teasing. She pretended she was.
Nella would have happily lain there on the ground forever, except now Sam took her hand and pulled her up.
Inside, they fed Mr. T, then sat on the enormous leather couch. Nella told him she was going to Garfield Middle for sure. Sam didn’t look as pleased as she hoped. He said he was getting really nervous about that school. The kids would think he was an uncool white punk. They’d stuff him in a locker or drop him off the bleachers headfirst.
“No they won’t.”
“They will when they find out I’m from this neighborhood. After what happened.”
Nella leaned back. She wondered if he was right.
“But that’s too messed up,” she said. “It’s judging us without knowing us.”
“You can explain that to them while they’re beating me up.”
“Everyone here isn’t the same. We don’t all think alike—we’re all different. Am I like Victoria? Or Nonni? Please God, no.” She sat up straighter. “So it’s a big mistake for us to think they’re all alike. The Garfield kids.” This was such a simple, obvious fact, why hadn’t Nella ever realized it before? Really realized it? She felt excited, even hopeful, as if she’d figured out something big, and now
maybe she’d start to understand other important things too. “I mean, we need to give each other a chance. Get to know each other, one by one. Get to know each other period. Because we don’t, not at all. We don’t know the first thing about each other.”
Nulla
, that’s what they knew. Nothing.
“So you’re not scared about going there?”
Nella slid down on the couch. She regarded her ocean-liner feet.
“I’m so scared I could die.”
“You know what I think?” Sam said all of a sudden. “I think God’s not really watching over us.”
“What?” She sat back up.
“He’s more like
Sorry, guys. I created you but now I’m busy. Good luck.
”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“It just makes sense,” Sam said. “How can He keep track of billions of people?”
“He’s God!”
“Hmm.”
“Sister Rosa told me the reason God made so many people is so we can help each other.”
“See what I mean?” Sam grinned. “God’s trying to get off the hook.”
“Or maybe He just really trusts us to do what’s right.”
“Wow,” said Sam. “You have an answer for everything.”
At the street corner, tucked in the shadows of the bocce court, they kissed again. Nella hoped she was getting better at it.
T
his summer, Salvatore had developed his own secret, separate life. He knew things about the neighborhood before any of the rest of them. Nella was getting ready to take Vinny for a walk when he ran up the driveway.
“Come see what they did!”
The front window of Angela’s house was smashed. Cracks radiated out from a jagged hole like in that poster of Clem’s, the one of a nebula, a doomed, exploding star. Shards of glass lay on the lawn.
“They did it last night.” Salvatore’s eyes were round.
“Who?” One of the protesters, she thought. That’s why
they weren’t here today.
“Everyone says Kenny Lombardo. Drunk out of his mind.”
Kenny Lombardo! He was from
here
.
Now Victoria and Kimmy appeared.
“Oh my God,” said Victoria.
“Oh my God,” said Kimmy.
“That idiot Kenny!” Victoria’s hand flew to her hip. “What a loser. I bet he was trying to impress his loser girlfriend.”
“I heard him saying the DeMarcos have a curse on them and they should get out of town,” said Kimmy.
“I’m surprised the newspeople aren’t here.” Victoria looked around, disappointed. “And where are the cops?”
“They came,” said Salvatore. “But there’s no witnesses.”
“Oh sure.” Victoria gave a halfhearted hair flip. “Like loser Kenny goes anyplace without his loser posse? But they’ll never talk.”
Bored, she and Kimmy wandered away.
It looked like a Halloween haunted house now. An abandoned poster,
STOP THE HATRED
, lay near the steps.
“Nella,” Salvatore said, “it’s supposed to rain tonight.” Before she could answer, he darted across the grass.
“What are you doing?” Nella struggled to maneuver the balky stroller but banged into the bumper of a parked car.
“We need to fix the window,” Sal said. “She’ll get wet.”
The front door opened. Angela stepped outside. Barefoot.
“Salvatore Sabatini!” she scolded. “Don’t touch that glass! Do you want to cut yourself?”
Obediently he dropped the piece of glass. He looked ready to hug her, then slid his hands into his pockets.
“You look different,” he said quietly.
Vinny was trying to climb out of the stroller. Angela crossed the grass and touched a finger to the tip of his nose.
“Hey you,” she whispered when he grabbed it. “Hey, Vin-vin.”
“You want me to fix the hole?” Salvatore asked. “It’s supposed to rain.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll fix it. Don’t worry.” She darted a look back at the house. “Get going now. Shoo before you cut yourself.” But Vinny still gripped her finger, and she didn’t move.
From inside came the sound of something heavy falling. A groan, followed by rasping sounds, the kind of sounds Nonni made when she had her stroke.
“What’s that?” Salvatore grabbed her other hand.
“Nothing. Nothing, you silly.”
“Blood!” yelled Salvatore. “You’re bleeding!”
“Angela!”
Three syllables, pure and clear, like a small, perfect bell
ringing for the first time. Arms outstretched, Vinny spoke.
“Angela!”
Nella and Angela gaped at each other. Their faces were astonished mirrors.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes!”
They crushed Vinny between them. They made a Vinny sandwich.
“Come home with us,” begged Salvatore. “Mom has Band-Aids.”
Angela wanted to—her face was full of wanting to. But now she pulled down that mask, turning her face blank as a statue.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Right, Nella? Tell Sal I’ve got Band-Aids and I’ll be fine.”
Nella nodded, mute as a statue.
It must be so terrible to be a statue.
Angela disappeared inside. The deadbolt clicked into place. All went quiet. Quiet as a tomb.
“Angela?” called Vinny. “Angela!”
L
isten to this one, Nonni.
What did the finger say to the thumb? I’m in glove with you.
”
Nella broke the Laffy Taffy into pieces. Nonni sucked noisily.
“Guess what? Vinny said
Angela
. He said it clear as anything.”
Interest flickered in her eyes. “Aaa-eee.”
“What?” asked Nella, though she knew exactly what her great-grandmother had just said.
“Aaa-o-eee.”
“Anthony.”
Nonni nodded. She sat up straighter, giving Nella her full attention.
“Anthony’s her big brother,” Nella said, stalling. She was forbidden to talk about this. “He . . . she . . .”
Nonni regarded Nella like she was the one with brain damage.
Spit it out,
said her face. And now Nella couldn’t help herself. She wanted to tell, needed to tell, had to tell.
“He’s in serious trouble, Nonni. He’s in jail.”
Nonni got a distant look, like someone trying to remember a dream. After a long moment, she nodded again.
“Eye-oh.”
“You know?”
Another nod.
“You saw it on the TV that morning. We thought you forgot.”
Nonni shook her head so hard, the veins in her neck stood out. Oh no. She wasn’t having another stroke, was she? Nella poured her a cup of water, but Nonni batted it away and it tumbled to the floor. She gripped the arms of her wheelchair and leaned forward like Vinny in his stroller, trying to go faster.