Read Online The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer - Free Book Online
Authors: Norma Fox Mazer
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, People & Places, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Family Life, New York (State), Siblings, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Abuse, Sisters, Kidnapping, Child Abuse, Law & Crime
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waters.”
“How would you even know what’s dangerous?” Stevie said, her eyes gleaming. “You’ve never even had a boyfriend. And in case you forgot, you’re not my mother.”
“Oh, stop,” Beauty said again, futilely, and she turned around to check on Fancy. “Fancy,” Beauty called. She had stopped to talk to a little black dog. “Come on. You’re going to be late.”
“What if she is?” Stevie said. “You spoil her. She’s got to learn to take care of herself.”
Beauty went to Fancy and took her hand. “Come on, honey, there’s not enough time to dawdle.”
They walked quickly toward the others, who were waiting for them at the corner.
“I love that dog,” Fancy said. “I kissed her and she kissed me back.”
89
“You shouldn’t be kissing strange dogs.”
“I know that,” Fancy said. “Good for me for knowing that. Mrs. Sokolow my teacher will be proud of me.”
Traffic was heavy on the corner of Dix Avenue. A clus-ter of people was waiting at the bus stop across the street.
“If it wasn’t for you, we would have been across already,”
Stevie said to Fancy. “I better not be late for play rehearsal.”
Beauty wanted to shush her but decided not to. She didn’t need another fight with Stevie. A man in a gray overcoat and a gray fedora, very old-fashioned looking, stood just behind them, also waiting to cross. Beauty glanced at him for a moment, then turned away. There was a lull in the traffic, and she said, “Okay, let’s go,” and they all crossed, Stevie’s stiff little shoulders in her bright blue jacket leading the way.
90
FACE LIKE A POTATO
WHAT LUCK, the man thinks. Here he is, standing on the corner, behind his five birds and so close he can smell them. The one the man likes least, the big one with the face like a potato, smells of cheap perfume. She herds the others along like a sheepdog. She is a dog. He doesn’t wish to waste his time on her, doesn’t want to even think about her, but there’s a certain fascination in her homeliness. He stares at the back of her head. Underneath that long braid of hair, even her neck is ugly. Her Ugliness. He likes the way that sounds. It accounts for her, puts the name and the face and the body all together nicely. Her Ugliness .
91
Now he thinks about naming the others. The one who lags behind and talks without stopping and this morning smelled of breakfast eggs—that’s easy. Her Dumbness.
Or . . . wait, would Her Dimness be a better name? Her Dumbness. Her Dimness. Which one?
When he clocks in at work, the two names are still reverberating.
“Hey ho!” It’s Violet, the computer whiz girl. Not really a girl, she has streaky gray hair, a too big and too white smile that chills him. She taps him on the shoulder. “Hey ho,” she says again. “What’s on your mind this morning?
How are you? Have a good weekend?”
A shudder goes through him. He half bows, twitches his cheeks into a smile. “I’m good. How about you?” He knows how to say nothing while making the right sounds.
It’s a game that he’s forced to play to keep them all satisfied. How are you? I’m good. And you? Good. Isn’t it a great day? We deserve some sun. You’re so right. Spring is on the way. And about time. Well, have a good one. All the inane, meaningless noises people make that pass for intel-ligent conversation. They might as well be pigs grunting in the pen.
In his office he sits down at his desk. Violet walks by his 92
cubicle and gives him another big white smile. It strikes him that Violet is Her Dumbness. Of course. Which means the talky one is Her Dimness . Perfect. He turns on his computer, satisfied.
93
THE ORDEAL
OPENING HER LOCKER after lunch, Beauty dawdled, watching Ethan at his locker taking out books, stuffing them in his backpack. Slowly she zipped her backpack and glanced at him again. Beauty Huddle, Secret Agent of Love. Then came an image of herself leaping on Ethan, grabbing his head, mashing
“How would you even know what’s dangerous?” Stevie said, her eyes gleaming. “You’ve never even had a boyfriend. And in case you forgot, you’re not my mother.”
“Oh, stop,” Beauty said again, futilely, and she turned around to check on Fancy. “Fancy,” Beauty called. She had stopped to talk to a little black dog. “Come on. You’re going to be late.”
“What if she is?” Stevie said. “You spoil her. She’s got to learn to take care of herself.”
Beauty went to Fancy and took her hand. “Come on, honey, there’s not enough time to dawdle.”
They walked quickly toward the others, who were waiting for them at the corner.
“I love that dog,” Fancy said. “I kissed her and she kissed me back.”
89
“You shouldn’t be kissing strange dogs.”
“I know that,” Fancy said. “Good for me for knowing that. Mrs. Sokolow my teacher will be proud of me.”
Traffic was heavy on the corner of Dix Avenue. A clus-ter of people was waiting at the bus stop across the street.
“If it wasn’t for you, we would have been across already,”
Stevie said to Fancy. “I better not be late for play rehearsal.”
Beauty wanted to shush her but decided not to. She didn’t need another fight with Stevie. A man in a gray overcoat and a gray fedora, very old-fashioned looking, stood just behind them, also waiting to cross. Beauty glanced at him for a moment, then turned away. There was a lull in the traffic, and she said, “Okay, let’s go,” and they all crossed, Stevie’s stiff little shoulders in her bright blue jacket leading the way.
90
FACE LIKE A POTATO
WHAT LUCK, the man thinks. Here he is, standing on the corner, behind his five birds and so close he can smell them. The one the man likes least, the big one with the face like a potato, smells of cheap perfume. She herds the others along like a sheepdog. She is a dog. He doesn’t wish to waste his time on her, doesn’t want to even think about her, but there’s a certain fascination in her homeliness. He stares at the back of her head. Underneath that long braid of hair, even her neck is ugly. Her Ugliness. He likes the way that sounds. It accounts for her, puts the name and the face and the body all together nicely. Her Ugliness .
91
Now he thinks about naming the others. The one who lags behind and talks without stopping and this morning smelled of breakfast eggs—that’s easy. Her Dumbness.
Or . . . wait, would Her Dimness be a better name? Her Dumbness. Her Dimness. Which one?
When he clocks in at work, the two names are still reverberating.
“Hey ho!” It’s Violet, the computer whiz girl. Not really a girl, she has streaky gray hair, a too big and too white smile that chills him. She taps him on the shoulder. “Hey ho,” she says again. “What’s on your mind this morning?
How are you? Have a good weekend?”
A shudder goes through him. He half bows, twitches his cheeks into a smile. “I’m good. How about you?” He knows how to say nothing while making the right sounds.
It’s a game that he’s forced to play to keep them all satisfied. How are you? I’m good. And you? Good. Isn’t it a great day? We deserve some sun. You’re so right. Spring is on the way. And about time. Well, have a good one. All the inane, meaningless noises people make that pass for intel-ligent conversation. They might as well be pigs grunting in the pen.
In his office he sits down at his desk. Violet walks by his 92
cubicle and gives him another big white smile. It strikes him that Violet is Her Dumbness. Of course. Which means the talky one is Her Dimness . Perfect. He turns on his computer, satisfied.
93
THE ORDEAL
OPENING HER LOCKER after lunch, Beauty dawdled, watching Ethan at his locker taking out books, stuffing them in his backpack. Slowly she zipped her backpack and glanced at him again. Beauty Huddle, Secret Agent of Love. Then came an image of herself leaping on Ethan, grabbing his head, mashing
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