Read Online New York, New York! by Ann M. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann M. Martin
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On Monday, when Kristy had come over, we'd watched several hours of television. In fact, since I'd arrived in New York, I'd watched a considerable amount of TV. I'd watched so much that by Tuesday I thought I'd go crazy if I saw one more toothpaste commercial or even if I saw one more I Love Lucy rerun. (The day before, I had discovered that I'd memorized Lucy Ricardo's "Vitameatave-gamin" speech: "Hello, friends. Are you tired, rundown, listless? Do you poop out at parties? Are you unpopular? . . .") So I'd tried listening to the radio. But the music was interrupted every ten minutes by news reports. In desperation, I cleaned out Mr. McGill's refrigerator. Then I organized the food in it. When that was done, I decided I really ought to organize his china, too. I was just putting the last saucer in place when . . . the doorbell rang.
I dove for cover. How had someone gotten upstairs if I hadn't buzzed him in? Maybe it was Stacey. She'd let herself into the building, and now she wanted me to let her in the apartment.
The bell rang again. I crept to the door and squinted through the peephole.
Yikes! A boy was standing in the hallway. And he looked like a real creep. But when he called, "Hello?" I felt I had to answer him.
"Who is it?" I yelled.
"My name is Richie," the boy replied. "Richie Magnesi. I live downstairs. Are you Stacey? Your father said you'd be visiting." Well, I had heard Mr. McGill mention the Magnesis, but how did I know this boy really was Richie Magnesi?
I decided not to open the door, so I said loudly, "Stacey's not here. I'm Dawn, a friend of hers. I'm visiting." "Can I come in? I'm sorry to be so pushy, but I have a broken ankle and I'm supposed to stay off my feet. I can't go out. I'm bored stiff." I looked through the peephole again. Richie was supported by a pair of crutches.
This could still be a ruse. I hesitated.
Richie spoke again. "I am supposed to be off my feet," he reminded me. "I'm supposed to keep my foot propped up." "You're Richie Magnesi?" I replied.
"Yes." He sounded impatient. He reached . . . for a gun? . . . Oh. No, just into his pocket. He held a card up to the peephole. "That's my student I.D.," he shouted. "See? I am the one and only Richie Magnesi." I laughed. Finally, I unlocked the door. I opened it slowly.
Richie hobbled inside and headed for the couch. He sank onto it, then gently lifted his leg onto a footrest. "Ahhh," he said. "Thanks, Dawn." "You're welcome." I was hovering around, not sure what to do. "Would you like a soda?" I asked, when Richie had settled himself.
"Sure. That would be great." By that time, I felt a little silly. I poured a soda for Richie and a glass of juice for me. I carried both drinks into the living room.
"So you're a friend of Stacey's?" Richie asked.
I nodded. (I had finally decided it was safe to sit down.) "My name is Dawn Schafer. I live in Stoneybrook. Stacey and I go to the same school." "Oh. I've never met Stacey. But I visit Mr. McGill sometimes. He knows about my ankle. Anyway, he said his daughter would be visiting for two weeks and that I should introduce myself to her." "How did you break your ankle?" I couldn't help asking.
Richie looked sheepish. "Skating. It wasn't even my fault. I have these new roller blades and I was in Central Park and this guy ran into me with his bicycle. That was all. When I fell, I broke my ankle. I could feel it break. I knew it was broken before I even sat up." "Ew," I said.
"Yeah. I have to wear this cast for eight weeks." "How many more to go?" "Six. I'm not even halfway there. But soon I'm going to get a walking cast. I won't need the crutches anymore." "Well, that's good." By then I'd had time to study Richie. His hair was brown and long-ish. He'd let the back grow into a very chilly little tail. And when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled.
How could I have thought he looked like a creep?
"So how come you're sitting around here without Stacey?" Richie wanted to know. "Are you sick or something?" I was so
On Monday, when Kristy had come over, we'd watched several hours of television. In fact, since I'd arrived in New York, I'd watched a considerable amount of TV. I'd watched so much that by Tuesday I thought I'd go crazy if I saw one more toothpaste commercial or even if I saw one more I Love Lucy rerun. (The day before, I had discovered that I'd memorized Lucy Ricardo's "Vitameatave-gamin" speech: "Hello, friends. Are you tired, rundown, listless? Do you poop out at parties? Are you unpopular? . . .") So I'd tried listening to the radio. But the music was interrupted every ten minutes by news reports. In desperation, I cleaned out Mr. McGill's refrigerator. Then I organized the food in it. When that was done, I decided I really ought to organize his china, too. I was just putting the last saucer in place when . . . the doorbell rang.
I dove for cover. How had someone gotten upstairs if I hadn't buzzed him in? Maybe it was Stacey. She'd let herself into the building, and now she wanted me to let her in the apartment.
The bell rang again. I crept to the door and squinted through the peephole.
Yikes! A boy was standing in the hallway. And he looked like a real creep. But when he called, "Hello?" I felt I had to answer him.
"Who is it?" I yelled.
"My name is Richie," the boy replied. "Richie Magnesi. I live downstairs. Are you Stacey? Your father said you'd be visiting." Well, I had heard Mr. McGill mention the Magnesis, but how did I know this boy really was Richie Magnesi?
I decided not to open the door, so I said loudly, "Stacey's not here. I'm Dawn, a friend of hers. I'm visiting." "Can I come in? I'm sorry to be so pushy, but I have a broken ankle and I'm supposed to stay off my feet. I can't go out. I'm bored stiff." I looked through the peephole again. Richie was supported by a pair of crutches.
This could still be a ruse. I hesitated.
Richie spoke again. "I am supposed to be off my feet," he reminded me. "I'm supposed to keep my foot propped up." "You're Richie Magnesi?" I replied.
"Yes." He sounded impatient. He reached . . . for a gun? . . . Oh. No, just into his pocket. He held a card up to the peephole. "That's my student I.D.," he shouted. "See? I am the one and only Richie Magnesi." I laughed. Finally, I unlocked the door. I opened it slowly.
Richie hobbled inside and headed for the couch. He sank onto it, then gently lifted his leg onto a footrest. "Ahhh," he said. "Thanks, Dawn." "You're welcome." I was hovering around, not sure what to do. "Would you like a soda?" I asked, when Richie had settled himself.
"Sure. That would be great." By that time, I felt a little silly. I poured a soda for Richie and a glass of juice for me. I carried both drinks into the living room.
"So you're a friend of Stacey's?" Richie asked.
I nodded. (I had finally decided it was safe to sit down.) "My name is Dawn Schafer. I live in Stoneybrook. Stacey and I go to the same school." "Oh. I've never met Stacey. But I visit Mr. McGill sometimes. He knows about my ankle. Anyway, he said his daughter would be visiting for two weeks and that I should introduce myself to her." "How did you break your ankle?" I couldn't help asking.
Richie looked sheepish. "Skating. It wasn't even my fault. I have these new roller blades and I was in Central Park and this guy ran into me with his bicycle. That was all. When I fell, I broke my ankle. I could feel it break. I knew it was broken before I even sat up." "Ew," I said.
"Yeah. I have to wear this cast for eight weeks." "How many more to go?" "Six. I'm not even halfway there. But soon I'm going to get a walking cast. I won't need the crutches anymore." "Well, that's good." By then I'd had time to study Richie. His hair was brown and long-ish. He'd let the back grow into a very chilly little tail. And when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled.
How could I have thought he looked like a creep?
"So how come you're sitting around here without Stacey?" Richie wanted to know. "Are you sick or something?" I was so
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