Read Online What Happened on Fox Street by Tricia Springstubb - Free Book Online Page B

haircut! You kept patting her arm, saying, ‘I don’t hurt,Mama!’” She crushed Mo, mirror and all, against her embarrassing chest. “Let me wrap some pizzelles for you to take home.”
    Before she knew it, Mo found herself back out on the sidewalk, her clipped hair lifting in the breeze. The foil of the wrapped-up cookies glinted in the sunlight.
    She’d never heard the story of her first haircut before.
    Fox Street. Here was where all the memories lived. Up on Da’s porch. In Mrs. Petrone’s kitchen.
    Most of all in the Wren house. They snuggled in every corner, rode the air itself. They hovered, just out of sight but near, watching over you with wise, almond-shaped eyes.
    Not a single car or person was in sight in this stifling heat, yet Mo looked both ways before she crossed the street. Walking up her driveway, she heard Mrs. Steinbott’s radio, but in place of the angry voices that usually raged twenty-four seven, music spilled out. Mo stopped, astonished, to listen. A woman’s voice, smooth as cream, sang about long-lost love. A skinny, hopeful voice warbled along.

The Plot Thickens
    M R . W REN CALLED IN SICK the next day, too. He whistled as he dressed, not in his uniform but in a good blue shirt.
    â€œHelp On-the-Dot get dressed, could you?” he asked Mo. “Shoes, underwear, the whole deal. The Wrens are taking a trip downtown.”
    â€œCool!” Mo faked enthusiasm, even as her radar for surprises began to beep. “What for?”
    He slipped a necktie under his collar. A necktie! Mr. Wren pulled the knot tight and stepped back to look in the mirror. He was dazzlingly handsome. Could she really look like him?
    â€œI’m taking a meeting with the illustrious Buckmeister.”
    Mo put her hands to her own throat.
    â€œCan…can Mercedes come with us?”
    â€œPorsche? She’s family! But tell her to move it. I can’t be late.”
    Mo grabbed a pair of underwear, a top and shorts that actually matched, shoes and socks, and laid them out in a row on Dottie’s bed. She threatened her little sister with a gruesome death if she didn’t get dressed immediately, then raced across the street.
    She found Da sitting at her kitchen table, where the pill bottles clustered like a miniature plastic forest. One by one Da sorted the capsules and tablets into a tray with boxes labeled for each day of the week.
    â€œThere’s small choice in rotten apples, Mo Wren.” She dropped a big white pill into Thursday and waved the fruit flies off a bowl of bananas. “Old age isn’t fun, but it does beat the alternative.”
    The way fingers can’t resist a scab, Mo’s eyes drifted down to the floor. In the heat, Da had left off her big black shoes. Instead her feet wore a pair of toeless slippers. Eeek! Mo squashed her eyes shut just in time. She clapped her hand over them, for good measure.
    â€œAre you all right, child?”
    â€œIt’s just a little…a little hot in here.” Mo inched her fingers down.
    â€œIn more ways than one.” Da arched a brow. “Am I mistaken, or does Mercedes Jasmine seem especially moody to you?”
    â€œWoo. You said it.”
    â€œJust like her mother. Give me strength—that girl could sulk.” Da snapped Thursday closed. “It stems from excessive pride. Not that I’d know anything about that. Get yourself a cold drink, go on.”
    â€œI’m all right. Where is she?”
    â€œâ€˜The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.’ Give me strength—not our Mercey.”
    â€œUmm, I’m kind of in a hurry, Da. May I be excused?”
    â€œShe’s out back. If anyone can cheer her up, it’s you, Mo Wren.”
    Mo crossed the little yard, sending an iridescent pigeon rumpling up from the grass. Mercedes slouched on Da’s metal glider, arms crossed, lower lip stuck out at least half