Read Online Strangers at the Feast by Jennifer Vanderbes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Vanderbes
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“Look at you all! Look at my adorable sweet wonderful granddaughter!” Eleanor had entered, hands to her cheeks. “Where’s my camera? Everybody, get close to Priya.”
Suddenly, the enthusiasm Denise had felt for Priya began to dissipate. The girl was a magnet, a curiosity. And while Denise was happy to meet her, they didn’t need to obsess over her. There were still nine mouths to feed.
“Why don’t we get some photos out in the living room?” Denise suggested. “Of all the kids?” She set the dishwasher running and tugged Douglas toward the door. “Your sister has plenty of work, leave her be.”
But Eleanor was upturning her bucket of a purse. “Camera, camera. Where are you, camera?” Finally, she settled for the extraction of a red-and-white dinner mint, which she handed to Priya.
“Hello, cute little granddaughter.”
“Mom, don’t give her candy,” Ginny said. “I’m trying to get her into good eating habits.”
“But grandmothers are supposed to give candy. That’s our job. Do you understand English, Priya? Does she understand English?”
“Enough,” said Ginny.
“Hello, darling. I’m Granny Eleanor. What is your name?”
“You know her name, Mom.”
“Well, I’m just trying to chat with my granddaughter. She’s a very quiet girl… unusually quiet.”
Ginny turned her back to everyone and began studiously arranging a row of carrots on the chopping board. In a soft, matter-of-fact way, and without turning around, she finally said, “Actually, Priya doesn’t speak.”
KIJO
Kijo looked at the house. He had promised his grandmother he’d never do anything like this, but he’d had enough. Like the day he was old enough to go to school, old enough to cross the street alone, strong enough to carry the groceries, or tall enough to answer the door when someone came knocking at night, Kijo felt something had changed inside of him. Something he couldn’t explain to Grandma Rose, or even to Spider.
He’d never much liked school, except for history class. He soaked up the stories about John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. He knew that history wasn’t about how people felt. It was about what they did.
Sometimes you had to take action.
Spider doubled back a couple blocks and nosed the Diamond Diagnostics van into the trees. As Kijo climbed out, the door snapped branches. Spider, on the other side, swatted twigs from his face.
“This is feeling very Survivor .”
They brushed leaves from their clothing and Spider tugged open the van’s back doors. He rubbed his hands excitedly while Kijo hauled out their bags of gear.
Spider threw a blanket aside, then pulled out a switchblade and shoved it into his back pocket.
“You wanna leave the po-pos your phone number, too?” Kijo pointed at the van’s Diamond Diagnostics logo, facing the road.
“Check this.” Spider pulled packing tape from their bags, snappedsome branches off the trees, and taped them over the words. He did the same to the license plate. “Constitution State, my ass.” He pulled the pizza box from the front and held it out. “Now we’re just delivering pizza. Arrest me, Officer. It’s pepperoni.”
Kijo slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and they made for the front door. The house was bigger than he’d imagined, large enough to take up a whole city block. It reminded him of a hotel, or the kind of place they put crazy people and old folks. He expected wheelchairs on the lawn, nurses in white. But there wasn’t anyone in sight.
“That’s my ride,” Spider said, pointing to a tree beside the house.
Spider’s real name was Calvin. But no one had called him that since the fifth grade, when he’d climbed a tree outside their school and made his way into the window of the girls’ bathroom to surprise Shaquina Nelson on Valentine’s Day. He got suspended, but he also got the attention of the track coach. Spider had won blue ribbons in the fifty-meter dash, had once had his picture
“Look at you all! Look at my adorable sweet wonderful granddaughter!” Eleanor had entered, hands to her cheeks. “Where’s my camera? Everybody, get close to Priya.”
Suddenly, the enthusiasm Denise had felt for Priya began to dissipate. The girl was a magnet, a curiosity. And while Denise was happy to meet her, they didn’t need to obsess over her. There were still nine mouths to feed.
“Why don’t we get some photos out in the living room?” Denise suggested. “Of all the kids?” She set the dishwasher running and tugged Douglas toward the door. “Your sister has plenty of work, leave her be.”
But Eleanor was upturning her bucket of a purse. “Camera, camera. Where are you, camera?” Finally, she settled for the extraction of a red-and-white dinner mint, which she handed to Priya.
“Hello, cute little granddaughter.”
“Mom, don’t give her candy,” Ginny said. “I’m trying to get her into good eating habits.”
“But grandmothers are supposed to give candy. That’s our job. Do you understand English, Priya? Does she understand English?”
“Enough,” said Ginny.
“Hello, darling. I’m Granny Eleanor. What is your name?”
“You know her name, Mom.”
“Well, I’m just trying to chat with my granddaughter. She’s a very quiet girl… unusually quiet.”
Ginny turned her back to everyone and began studiously arranging a row of carrots on the chopping board. In a soft, matter-of-fact way, and without turning around, she finally said, “Actually, Priya doesn’t speak.”
KIJO
Kijo looked at the house. He had promised his grandmother he’d never do anything like this, but he’d had enough. Like the day he was old enough to go to school, old enough to cross the street alone, strong enough to carry the groceries, or tall enough to answer the door when someone came knocking at night, Kijo felt something had changed inside of him. Something he couldn’t explain to Grandma Rose, or even to Spider.
He’d never much liked school, except for history class. He soaked up the stories about John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. He knew that history wasn’t about how people felt. It was about what they did.
Sometimes you had to take action.
Spider doubled back a couple blocks and nosed the Diamond Diagnostics van into the trees. As Kijo climbed out, the door snapped branches. Spider, on the other side, swatted twigs from his face.
“This is feeling very Survivor .”
They brushed leaves from their clothing and Spider tugged open the van’s back doors. He rubbed his hands excitedly while Kijo hauled out their bags of gear.
Spider threw a blanket aside, then pulled out a switchblade and shoved it into his back pocket.
“You wanna leave the po-pos your phone number, too?” Kijo pointed at the van’s Diamond Diagnostics logo, facing the road.
“Check this.” Spider pulled packing tape from their bags, snappedsome branches off the trees, and taped them over the words. He did the same to the license plate. “Constitution State, my ass.” He pulled the pizza box from the front and held it out. “Now we’re just delivering pizza. Arrest me, Officer. It’s pepperoni.”
Kijo slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and they made for the front door. The house was bigger than he’d imagined, large enough to take up a whole city block. It reminded him of a hotel, or the kind of place they put crazy people and old folks. He expected wheelchairs on the lawn, nurses in white. But there wasn’t anyone in sight.
“That’s my ride,” Spider said, pointing to a tree beside the house.
Spider’s real name was Calvin. But no one had called him that since the fifth grade, when he’d climbed a tree outside their school and made his way into the window of the girls’ bathroom to surprise Shaquina Nelson on Valentine’s Day. He got suspended, but he also got the attention of the track coach. Spider had won blue ribbons in the fifty-meter dash, had once had his picture
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