Read Online Beautiful by Amy Reed - Free Book Online Page A

house. I can breathe now. I am glad we are moving. I am glad we are in a single-file line, saying nothing, not looking at each other. I am glad we are pretending nothing happened.
    A mother with two crying young children gives us a twenty just to make us go away. An old man gives us seventy-six cents and invites us to come in and see his collection of World War II memorabilia. A woman with a million cats gives us a five. A thirty-something guy in a stained white undershirt gives us nothing, but tells us we’re pretty and says he’ll give us some whiskey if we stick around. I consider it, but Sarah starts walking.
    We knock on the door of a small house with a yard that looks like it was beautiful until recently. The hedges betray perfectly trimmed angles, fallen leaves litter the overgrown grass, and the skeletons of various flowers line the side of the house. I can hear movement inside and someone talking. A frail old woman opens the door and smiles when she sees us. A strange odor seeps out of the house, like something way too sweet.
    â€œOh, hello,” she says, like she’s been waiting for us.
    â€œHello, ma’am,” Sarah says and starts the speech, but the lady keeps looking back and forth at us with the big grin on her face like she’s not even listening. Sarah gets to the part about the animals when the lady interrupts her.
    â€œCome in, come in,” she says. “George and I were just sitting down for dinner.”
    â€œWe don’t want to impose,” Sarah says.
    â€œHoney, the more the merrier,” says the lady. “We love company, don’t we, George?” she calls behind her into the house, but no one answers.
    As we enter, the smell is overwhelming. My eyes start to water and Sarah coughs. The lady is saying something about having no grandchildren, but I can’t hear her because I’m looking around the house at every single table and windowsill and countertop covered with vases full of molding, dead flowers, giant bouquets like the kind people send after someone dies. The table is set for two but no one is there. A small pile of saltines is on one of the plates next to a half-eaten can of tuna.
    â€œNow what were you saying about gerbils?” the lady asks.
    â€œWe’re raising money to buy them,” I say. “For our science class.”
    â€œOh,” the lady says. She looks around the room nervously,as if searching for gerbils or cash or something that will help us. “I think—” the lady says, but doesn’t finish her sentence. She is digging through the pockets of her polyester pants.
    â€œIt’s okay,” Sarah says. “If you can’t—”
    â€œNo,” the lady says. “I want to help you.” She walks into the living room, over to the couch, picks up a purse, and starts rummaging through it.
    â€œI think we’ve actually reached our goal,” Sarah says, looking at me with a sadness in her eyes that makes her suddenly look very old. “I think we’re done fund-raising, so we’re going to go now.”
    â€œNo, wait,” the lady says. “I know I have some money for you.” There is a panic growing in her voice. My eyes search for something to look at, anything but her. I look at the table. There are flies on the tuna. There is mold on the saltines.
    â€œIt was nice meeting you, ma’am,” I say, already walking toward the door. “We’ll see our way out.”
    â€œNo, wait,” she says again. “George, see if you have any money for these nice girls.”
    I open the door and suck in fresh air. I look behind me and Sarah is taking a twenty-dollar bill out of our manila envelope. She places the money under the plate that holds the lady’s awful dinner. The lady is still in the living room, rummaging through her purse and saying, “No, wait,” over and over,asking George to help her. Sarah meets my eye and starts walking,