Read Online The Thirteen by Susie Moloney - Free Book Online
Authors: Susie Moloney
Tags: Fiction
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over the rail. You could see all the way down to the lobby, the black railing against the white marble floor spinning and spinning. If you looked too long it felt a little like you might fall. That was sort of how it felt not to be at school
(when you knew you should be)
For instance, they had math at ten, which was second period. Sister Persephone had tufts of hair growing out of her chin that she clearly tried to shave; they would disappear and then reappear looking like someone’s dad’s five o’clock shadow. Otherwise she was nice. When someone answered a particularly difficult question correctly, she would always say, “Aren’t you one of God’s special thinkers.”
Rowan sighed. She was bored, and totally surprised by the boredom and its accompanying thought: even school would be better than this . Her mom had just got back from the hospital and didn’t want to say how her grandmother was doing. Rowan had asked if they could please go somewhere and Paula barely even looked at her. She said they would walk the dog later. Every now and then Rowan could hear her moving around inside the house.
The weather was beautiful, more summer than spring, and the sun had been shining all morning. That was all there was to look at here. The sky and the porch and the street. Everywhere Ro looked there was a house. There were no buildings, no parking lots, no chain-link fences, no 7-Eleven store, no
(no gang of boys squatting in a tight circle on the steps of the apartment block across the street)
hey little girl c’mere I’ll teach ya some school
no city at all. Just houses. All exhaustingly quiet, the people invisible.
Across the street a brown car was parked in the driveway, which sloped upwards towards the house, and so it seemed almost that the car was part of a display. Check out my car . Two white cars were parked side by side in the driveways of nearly identical houses just up the street. Those were all the cars.
Except for their second-hand Mazda with the rusted wheel wells, which her mom had bought with her severance cheque from the bar. It too was parked in the driveway on a slight incline. She supposed that, to people in the houses across the street, it looked as if their (piece of shit) car was on display.
check out my pieceofshit
aren’t you one of God’s special thinkers
Nothing on the street moved. It was dead.
Rowan gave the wind chimes one last swat and then sat down hard on the top step of the porch beside the big, hairy dog. She put her hand on his head and gave him a gentle scratch, and his tail thumped on the wooden floor. Thump thump thump . Then it stopped. The dog was good.
His muzzle was flecked with coarse grey (like Sister Persephone’s chin hairs) and the tips of his ears were also grey. He smelled. It took him several minutes to get up from his lying-down position, and as he struggled up he grunted like an old man. But it had been love at first sight all the same.
She scratched his head some more, tenderly. The dog thumped his tail some more, but he did not raise his head to look at her. Her mom said he was a mutt, but that he had some collie in him and probably some shepherd, which was why he was so big and hairy. His face was broad and kind and over each eye he had a small patch of black, like eyebrows. This furthered his old-man appearance, and also made him look intelligent, like a cartoon dog who might wear glasses. Another one of God’s special thinkers.
She hadn’t been able to sleep last night in her mom’s old room. Sometime in the middle of the night she’d been woken by a tap-tap-tap at the window. She’d tried to sleep through it the way she slept through the sirens and yelling on the streets at home, but it didn’t work. Everything else was so quiet .
Except for the intermittent tap-tap-tap .
Half asleep, she’d gotten up to look. Too tired to really be frightened, she nevertheless felt something just as she pulled the curtain aside to look out
(even though
(when you knew you should be)
For instance, they had math at ten, which was second period. Sister Persephone had tufts of hair growing out of her chin that she clearly tried to shave; they would disappear and then reappear looking like someone’s dad’s five o’clock shadow. Otherwise she was nice. When someone answered a particularly difficult question correctly, she would always say, “Aren’t you one of God’s special thinkers.”
Rowan sighed. She was bored, and totally surprised by the boredom and its accompanying thought: even school would be better than this . Her mom had just got back from the hospital and didn’t want to say how her grandmother was doing. Rowan had asked if they could please go somewhere and Paula barely even looked at her. She said they would walk the dog later. Every now and then Rowan could hear her moving around inside the house.
The weather was beautiful, more summer than spring, and the sun had been shining all morning. That was all there was to look at here. The sky and the porch and the street. Everywhere Ro looked there was a house. There were no buildings, no parking lots, no chain-link fences, no 7-Eleven store, no
(no gang of boys squatting in a tight circle on the steps of the apartment block across the street)
hey little girl c’mere I’ll teach ya some school
no city at all. Just houses. All exhaustingly quiet, the people invisible.
Across the street a brown car was parked in the driveway, which sloped upwards towards the house, and so it seemed almost that the car was part of a display. Check out my car . Two white cars were parked side by side in the driveways of nearly identical houses just up the street. Those were all the cars.
Except for their second-hand Mazda with the rusted wheel wells, which her mom had bought with her severance cheque from the bar. It too was parked in the driveway on a slight incline. She supposed that, to people in the houses across the street, it looked as if their (piece of shit) car was on display.
check out my pieceofshit
aren’t you one of God’s special thinkers
Nothing on the street moved. It was dead.
Rowan gave the wind chimes one last swat and then sat down hard on the top step of the porch beside the big, hairy dog. She put her hand on his head and gave him a gentle scratch, and his tail thumped on the wooden floor. Thump thump thump . Then it stopped. The dog was good.
His muzzle was flecked with coarse grey (like Sister Persephone’s chin hairs) and the tips of his ears were also grey. He smelled. It took him several minutes to get up from his lying-down position, and as he struggled up he grunted like an old man. But it had been love at first sight all the same.
She scratched his head some more, tenderly. The dog thumped his tail some more, but he did not raise his head to look at her. Her mom said he was a mutt, but that he had some collie in him and probably some shepherd, which was why he was so big and hairy. His face was broad and kind and over each eye he had a small patch of black, like eyebrows. This furthered his old-man appearance, and also made him look intelligent, like a cartoon dog who might wear glasses. Another one of God’s special thinkers.
She hadn’t been able to sleep last night in her mom’s old room. Sometime in the middle of the night she’d been woken by a tap-tap-tap at the window. She’d tried to sleep through it the way she slept through the sirens and yelling on the streets at home, but it didn’t work. Everything else was so quiet .
Except for the intermittent tap-tap-tap .
Half asleep, she’d gotten up to look. Too tired to really be frightened, she nevertheless felt something just as she pulled the curtain aside to look out
(even though
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