Read Online Balancing Acts by Zoe Fishman - Free Book Online

still talking. As a matter of fact, he was the only person talking in the entire car. Of course he was that guy. Sabine looked back. One of Subway Crush’s iPod buds was hanging from his ear. Was he trying to overhear their conversation? Really? He was back to his book, but the bud dangled—the only proof that maybe Sabine wasn’t hallucinating. He was looking at her. Or wait, maybe he was gay and looking at Michael.
    She turned back toward Michael. No, not possible.
    â€œYou know what I mean?” he asked breathlessly. He had been talking the entire time. Sabine had not heard a word he had said. No wonder he always thought she was drunk.
    â€œI do, Michael,” she replied. The train pulled into her station. “Well, this is me!” she announced. “See you!”
    She gathered her bag and pushed her way out of the train. She glanced back to mentally say good-bye to Subway Crush. He was looking! He was definitely looking!
    They locked eyes and Sabine froze in her tracks.
    â€œHey lady, give us a break, will ya?!” a burly guy yelled in her ear. She willed her limbs to work and turned to exit the train.
    Through the turnstile, up the stairs, on the street. Finally, here, Sabine could take a moment to digest what had happened. An eye lock with Subway Crush! It had really happened. She smiled and straightened her shoulders as she marched down Sixth Avenue.
    Next time, she would say hello. Well, maybe not. No, she would. She was going to and that was final. No excuses.

Chapter Nine
Naomi
    T hat one kind of looks like a robin, don’t you think, Noah?” asked Naomi. She looked at her son, walking beside her—his long eyelashes all she could see peeking out from the insulated hood of his down parka. It was a brisk afternoon, but they had decided to take the long way home from school. Naomi loved these walks with her boy. Sometimes, his little paw would drift into hers and her heart would melt as they ambled through the park, looking at birds and trees—talking about the pleasures and perils of an eight-year-old’s life.
    Noah’s hand in hers was so warm and small. Naomi knew all to well that these were her last chances at Noah hand-holding. Soon, he would think that gesture too babyish. It was the circle of life.
    â€œMmm, not really, Mom,” answered Noah. “It’s not even red!”
    â€œGood point. Maybe I just want it to be a robin because that would mean that spring was on its way.”
    â€œMommmm, it’s not even February yet! We have a long winter ahead of us.” Like his mother, Noah was very matter of fact about most things. But about winter they differed. He never started climbing the frozen walls of April like Naomi did, praying for leaves on trees and warm sun. Whenever Naomi had a hissy fit, which happened like clockwork around the last week of April every year, Noah would pat her on the head and tell her, in sweet little-boy speak, to get a grip.
    â€œSpring is in May, almost June, Mom,” he would say. “That’s just how it is.” Then he would grab a cookie and saunter back into the living room, leaving Naomi shaking her head and mumbling, “You’re right, Noah. I know you’re right.”
    Here again, she found herself adhering to Noah’s season-coping strategy. “I know, Noah. Spring is many, many miles away. Point taken. How was school today?”
    â€œIt was okay,” answered Noah, as he stopped to try to make a ball out of some slushy snow. Rolling it proved impossible, so he stopped midway with a sigh. “This snow sucks.”
    â€œHey, hey,” reprimanded Naomi. “I don’t like that word.”
    â€œWhat, snow ?” asked Noah, with a lopsided grin.
    â€œYou know what word I mean,” said Naomi. “There are so many words to use, why use—”
    â€œAn easy one that requires no thought,” finished Noah. “I know. This snow is. . .”