Read Online The Paper Cowboy by Kristin Levine - Free Book Online

too. And my feet hurt. But no one offered
me
a break. No, I just had to keep on restocking canning jars on a shelf. I was paying attention, I really was, but one of the jars was wet, which was probably why I dropped it.
    The jar bounced and then shattered loudly into a million pieces.
    Everyone came scurrying over to my aisle to see what had happened. Mr. McKenzie walked up and inspected the broken glass on the floor, like he’d never seen a broken jar before.
    â€œClumsy,” he said finally.
    All the customers were looking at me. It was embarrassing.
I’ve been up since 4:30,
I wanted to yell at them.
I’m tired!
    Mr. McKenzie clucked his tongue. “Tommy, that was careless.”
    I was so furious, I wanted to slug him. Deal or no deal, I wasn’t going to take that. I turned on my heel and walked off.
    I was almost to the front door when I came up with a great idea. If I left now, Mom would find out and beat me again for sure. But if I found another way to get back at him . . .
    Everyone else, even Mr. McKenzie, was still gathered in the back of the store where I’d broken the jar. I quickly searched through my satchel. Yes, I still had that commie newspaper. It was a little wrinkled and wet, but that didn’t matter. I slipped my copy of the
Daily Worker
under the counter, onto the pile of papers they used to wrap the purchases. The next time someone bought a salad dish or a gravy bowl, they’d get quite a surprise. Mr. McKenzie would be humiliated and then he’d see how it felt.
    I picked up the broom and dustpan and sauntered down the aisle.
    Mr. McKenzie looked at me.
    The clock struck twelve.
    â€œI’ll clean it up,” I said, bending over with the dustpan.
    â€œYou certainly will.” Mr. McKenzie huffed. He marched off and the rest of the customers followed him.
    I quickly swept up the glass and walked back to the front of the store to throw it out.
    Mr. McKenzie was wrapping a purchase for Eddie’s dad, Mr. Sullivan. “Hi, Tommy,” he called out to me. He wore overalls and a white T-shirt, revealing his muscular arms. “Eddie and I were thinking about heading over to Mud Lake one of these weekends before it gets too cold. You and your dad interested in coming?”
    â€œYes, sir!” I replied. Fishing was one of the only things my dad ever did with me. I never missed a trip.
    â€œThere you go,” Mr. McKenzie said, handing Mr. Sullivan the newspaper-wrapped package.
    The masthead was clearly visible on the front. Eddie’s dad noticed it immediately. “What’s this?” he asked, without touching the paper. “Some sort of joke?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” said Mr. McKenzie. “It’s the lightbulbs, like you asked for. Sixty watts.”
    Mr. Sullivan took the package and unwrapped it, as if it were a baby blanket containing a dead fish. He pulled the paper off and smoothed out the crinkled pages. “Since when do you get the
Daily Worker
?” he asked, his voice cold.
    Mr. McKenzie laughed. “The
Daily Worker
? That’s a good one.”
    But Mr. Sullivan’s face was deadly serious. A muscle in his arm twitched.
    Mr. McKenzie stopped laughing and looked down at the paper. His face blanched when he saw the masthead. “I don’t know where that came from,” he said. He looked over at me. I held his gaze, defiantly. I wanted him to know it was me. Finally, he turned away. “I just used the first newspaper on top of the pile.”
    He reached for the paper to crumple it up, but Eddie’s dad snatched it back from him. “I’m going to have to show that to Officer Russo,” he said.
    Mr. McKenzie laughed again, but it sounded forced. “I’m no communist!”
    â€œSo you say,” said Mr. Sullivan. “It’s just a precaution. I’m sure you understand.”
    Mr. McKenzie rolled his eyes. “What do you think? That