Fireside by Susan Wiggs (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

what probably really sucks is hearing people talk about my news.”

“Why would that suck?” AJ asked.

“I figure the last thing you want to hear about is somebody else’s good news.”

AJ glanced up from the book at last. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Bo to understand. “It’s cool,” he said tonelessly. “The Yankees thing.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but we need to talk about you.”

AJ quit trying to pretend he was interested in the book of myths. “Talk about me.”

“Looks like you might be stuck with me for a little longer than we thought. According to Sophie, the soonest your mother can get a hearing is in six weeks.”

AJ stomach knotted. He wished he hadn’t eaten so much spaghetti at dinner. Six weeks. A month and a half. And that was just for a hearing. Who knew what would happen after that?

“Anyway, Mrs. V. is fine with us staying for as long as we need to, so that’s something,” Bo said. “But there’s one thing….”

The knot in AJ’s stomach tightened. “What? Just tell me.”

“I need to explain about the thing Dino mentioned earlier. He didn’t realize I hadn’t told you yet about the rookie program. They coach new players on how to handle reps, sportswear executives, the press, fans, that sort of thing. See, in the major leagues, baseball isn’t just baseball. It’s like learning a whole business. The trouble is, I’m supposed to go the week after next.”

AJ sat there, smoldering mad, trapped. “Yeah? So?”

“So I got a dilemma now. I’m responsible for you. I can’t just go taking off.”

AJ couldn’t resist. “Why not? That’s what you’ve done my whole life.”

“Hey—”

“You can just go,” AJ stated, getting up and putting the book back on the shelf with a decisive shove. “I’ll be fine.” To his relief, Bo didn’t try to stop him as he stalked out of the room.

He kept his head down and took the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding with Kim on the stair landing. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No harm done. AJ, you look upset.”

He was amazed to see what he saw in her eyes. They were soft with kindness and understanding. What was up with that? He was even more amazed to hear himself say, “It’s cool and all that Bo’s going to be a Yankee, but I have to go to school starting Monday, and that is not cool.” There was still no certified birth certificate, but Bo had gone over the attendance clerk’s head and sweet-talked somebody at the school into giving AJ provisional enrollment.

“I’m sorry.”

Most grown-ups would probably tell him all the good things about school. Not Kim. She said, “I used to hate school, myself. How about you?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.” He thought about Mrs. Jackson, and how he always felt all proud to be in the top reading group, even though it meant reading harder books. And he liked Mrs. Alvarez, the teacher’s aide, who spoke Spanish most of the time, because most of the kids in class were Latino. His school in Texas, with its open-air walkways and sunbaked playgrounds, was completely different from the snowbound brick building in Avalon, filled with suspicious-looking Anglo kids.

“But you feel funny about being new,” Kim said, guessing correctly.

He nodded.

“What can I do to help? Don’t look at me like that, AJ.”

“Like what?” But he knew. He’d squinted his eyes, wondering why she cared.

“Like you think I’m being phony. I’m not. I really want to know if there’s any way to help you. I’m new to this, you see—”

“To what?”

“To you. To having a friend your age. I like you, and I don’t want to see you hurting. So tell me what I can do.”

Her words startled him. And she was getting really emotional. He didn’t quite know how to handle that. There was only one person in the whole world he could count on, and that was his mother, and she was gone. Yet here was this stranger who didn’t seem to want anything except to be nice to him. Part of him wanted to break down and wail, but he wasn’t about to do that in front of her. Or anybody.

“AJ?” she prompted softly.

He took a deep breath, hardening himself. “Nothing. It’s just going to suck. Everything sucks.”

Again, she didn’t try to act all cheerful about it. She touched him on the shoulder and gave it the lightest of squeezes. “I know the feeling.”

Twelve

“I’m not going.” AJ glared at Bo across the darkened kitchen of Fairfield House.

Bo clenched his jaw, silently vowing not to let this turn into a fight. They were the first ones up on a freezing Monday morning. Snow had come down all night, but according to the local radio reports, there was no hope of a snow day. This town was well-prepared, and snowplows were already out, clearing the streets.

“Yeah, you are.” Bo braced his hands on the countertop and glowered at the coffeemaker, willing it to hurry up and brew. He hadn’t had to get up for school in years, and he’d forgotten how brutal these early-morning wakeup calls could be.

“I’m not, and you can’t make me.”

Drip, drip, drip. Outright defiance was something Bo hadn’t expected and wasn’t prepared for. The words sounded strangely intimidating, especially coming from a kid. You can’t make me. Bo had endured every sort of taunt and chatter on the baseball field, yet none of that rattled him the way AJ did. It was, he realized, because when all was said and done, baseball was a game. This, on the other hand, was not.

He glanced at AJ over his shoulder, sizing him up swiftly, the way he would a power hitter fresh from the dugout. The boy’s face was stiff, his eyes hard with belligerence.

“Hate to point this out, buddy,” he said, keeping his tone easy and reasonable. “But I can make you. So you might as well get used to the idea.” At last, the coffeemaker finished, and Bo