Read Online Behind You by Jacqueline Woodson - Free Book Online Page B

away from. I closed my eyes. Miah’d never understood how two people could stop loving each other and I’d never known how to explain.
    After a while of watching Nelia, I took a deep breath, folded the paper under my arm, got up from my stoop and crossed the street.
    How many years had it been since I’d crossed that street—three, four, nine? Even after Miah died, I still didn’t go back into that house. I’d offered to help clean out his room, but Nelia had said no, said she’d take care of it. Now here were my feet, one stepping in front of the other, and me moving closer and closer to Nelia’s stoop.
    The block is silent as a stone. It feels like somebody far away is watching. And waiting to see what happens.

Ellie
    EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, MARION SHAKES ME AWAKE. MY throat hurts and I’m not sure where I am.
    â€œYou were screaming,” she says.
    I blink, look around my room.
    â€œSomeone shot Miah,” I whisper, pressing my hand to my throat. “I dreamed someone shot Miah.”
    Marion stares at me and shakes her head. She leaves and a few minutes later, she’s back, pressing a warm cloth to my forehead.
    â€œI dreamed . . .”
    â€œShhhh, Elisha,” she whispers. “Miah’s gone, honey.”
    I lay back on the bed and close my eyes. “Miah’s gone,” I whisper, sinking back into sleep.
    Â 
    When I came downstairs later, I was surprised to find my father sitting at the kitchen table. The apartment smelled like cinnamon, apples and coffee. Marion gave me a long look, then put a glass of juice on the table in front of me.
    â€œWhat are you doing home?” I asked my father. He was usually at the hospital on Saturdays. Sundays were our day together.
    â€œYour mother tells me you had another bad dream,” my father said. He looked tired, his blue eyes were rimmed and puffy. My sisters and brother call me “the accident” because I was born ten years after the last one. My parents aren’t young. Last year, we celebrated my mother’s fifty-seventh birthday.
    I looked at Marion. “And?”
    â€œAnd we’re worried,” she said. “It’s been almost a year now, Elisha.”
    â€œIt’s been eleven months, Marion. ”
    â€œDon’t call your mother ‘Marion,’ El.”
    I pushed the juice away from me. “When she starts calling me ‘Ellie,’ I’ll start calling her ‘Mom’—”
    â€œYour name is Elisha.” Marion turned back to the stove and stirred something. After a moment, she set a bowl of apple compote on the table, then took a stack of pancakes from the oven.
    I got up and poured myself some coffee.
    â€œWe’re just concerned,” my father said. “You don’t participate in school—”
    â€œI get straight A’s.” I tried to keep my voice even.
    â€œYou don’t do any activities, just study, study, study,” Marion said. She sat across from me and put two pancakes on a plate. “Here.”
    â€œNot hungry.”
    My father looked at me and I rolled my eyes and took the plate from Marion.
    â€œNo sports, no clubs, no friends . . . ,” Marion said, counting off on her fingers. “Just bad dreams and sadness. Just you in your room, doing I don’t know what. . . .”
    â€œ Studying . I’m studying in my room. And I do other stuff besides hang out upstairs.”
    â€œLike what?” Marion and my father looked at me. “Where are your friends? Girls your age are supposed to have lots of girlfriends hanging around and calling. Nobody ever calls here for you. When the other kids were home, the phone was constantly—”
    â€œWell, I’m not the other kids . You should have stopped when you were ahead if you wanted the other kids .”
    â€œWe were thinking,” my father said, “that maybe you want to talk to somebody—”
    I started to say