Read Online Christopher Paul Curtis by Bucking the Sarge - Free Book Online

between you and them when you're working over there.”
    Uh-oh.
    Most times if I woke up and found her standing over me my ears would be ringing from one of her “Good morning” pops to the head. Most times her wake-up words were something like “How come you didn't…” or “Do you realize what time it is…” or worst of all, “There seems to be a little discrepancy in what I requested and what was done.”So these words about me doing a good job at the group home didn't quite feel right.
    All I could say was “Really?”
    She did that thing that she thinks is a smile and said, “Really. So, even though you're young I've made a decision.”
    Uh-oh.
    “Tomorrow night at eight you and I are going to the Secretary of State's office over on Clio Road. Peter Thompson is going to cut you a driver's license. You're ready to drive the bus.”
    It wasn't until later that I learned I should always wait for what we philosophers like to call the other shoe to drop. Back at thirteen I was still young and naive. I just about jumped out of bed and said, “I get to drive? Seriously?”
    She said, “When have you known me not to be serious?”
    This was great! She'd made Darnell Dixon start to teach me how to drive the bus a while ago and he told her, “Are you kidding? That bus costs more than eighty thousand dollars. You gonna let
him
drive it?”
    “Just in case,” she'd told him. “You never know what tomorrow will bring. Besides, when you start making the payments you can question me about who drives my bus.”
    I got pretty good at it in a couple of months and now I was actually going to get my learner's permit! I'd probably be the only thirteen-year-old in the universe who would have one.
    That's when the questions started creeping in.
    I said, “But … wait a minute, isn't the Secretary ofState's office closed at eight at night, and don't you have to be sixteen to get a learner's permit?”
    She said, “You're right, it is closed at eight, for the general public. I happen to know that since he's the manager of that branch, Mr. Thompson provides twenty-four-hour service for a certain, elite clientele. And as far as having to be sixteen to get a learner's permit, you obviously weren't paying attention, I didn't say a thing about a learner's permit, I told you you were going to be getting a driver's license.”
    The warning bell went off again, loud.
    I said, “But you have to be eighteen to get a driver's license, there's no way I look like—”
    She was fed up with me. She said, “Look, just make sure Little Chicago has everybody in bed with their meds by seven-thirty tomorrow. Put on your suit and tie, that'll make you look a little older, you're already freakishly tall for someone your age, you can do this. Once you have the papers saying you're eighteen, that's what you are. I'll get you a birth certificate to confirm your age just in case.”
    She saw I didn't like the sound of that.
    “If it makes you more comfortable why don't you look at it like this, do you have any idea what a difficult period of time the ages of fourteen through seventeen are for most boys? Consider yourself lucky, you'll be zipping right from thirteen years old to eighteen years old, you will officially miss the majority of the turmoil of adolescence and the incumbent nastiness that it inevitably brings.”
    That was the first shoe of the Sargeism. The second shoe dropped when she said, “I've also decided that startingMonday you'll take over running the men's home. You'll move over there and be in charge of getting them where they need to be. And don't think you're doing this as a charitable contribution to our business either, I've decided I'll pay you ten dollars an hour for the first forty hours of your work week and, since you'll be putting in considerable time beyond that, you'll get the state mandated time-and-a-half fifteen dollars for everything over forty hours. We'll set up an education fund for you and I'll deposit your