Al Capone Does My Homework Read Online Free

smell,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by bedclothes.
    I try to hoist her over my shoulder. She’s older than I am but a good thirty pounds
     lighter. I’ve carried her before, only now her body is stiff as a stadium bleacher.
    “Buttons,” Natalie says.
    I grip her beloved button box and push through the doorway.
    The smoke is getting blacker, denser. I suck it down my throat and up my nostrils
     as I half carry, half drag Natalie clutching her pillow, her legs bumping behind us.
     Through the living room we go, dodging licks of fire. My eyes smart, I can hardly
     see, but now that Nat has her buttons, she’s letting me move her.
    The flames have engulfed the front door. How do we get out?
    Maybe I can use the side table to break the window, but I’ll need to let go of Natalie.
    “Natalie . . . don’t move!” Her legs are so stiff, it’s as if rigor mortis has set
     in. She lies on the ground as she did on my floor, her head face-first in the pillow.
    Wait . . . this isn’t stupid, it’s smart. She’s protecting herself from the smoke.
     It’s less dense down low. The thoughts spin in my brain as I hammer the side table
     against the glass. The windows are thick, they won’t break. But something is cracking.
     The other window. The fire must have popped the glass, but the flames are too hot
     over there. We can’t get out that way.
    I batter the window with the table, pummel it as hard as I can and then a splintering
     snap and the glass shatters around me, leaving a jagged sharp-sided hole.
    I still have hold of the table leg, reeling it back through the broken glass and setting
     the table down in front of the window. “Natalie, climb!” I shout.
    She freezes—won’t move at all. Her head is burrowed in the pillow, her arms clutching
     her button box. I snatch the pillow from her.
    “Come on!” With more strength than I thought I had, I pick her up and put her on the
     table.
    But this isn’t going to work. How can I get her through the window? The smoke is slowing
     my brain. It takes a long time to reason this out.
    The flames bust out of the kitchen, creating a wall of heat behind us. A hot rush
     of fire-fueled air whirls around us, sparks shooting, singeing my arm.
    Then all of a sudden she dives through the jagged glass and I’m on her tail. I jump
     through, landing in a jumble on top of her.
    “Fire!” somebody cries.
    “Fire! Fire!” More yells from all around.
    “Moose!” Mrs. Mattaman appears out of the smoke, her apron soaking wet, her dark eyes
     black with fear. She grasps my arm. “You okay?”
    “Yes,” I tell her, but I’m not sure the word makes it out of my throat, though it
     must have, because she nods.
    “Jesus, what happened?” Donny Caconi’s voice rings in from the night as a sudden shock
     of cold water blasts from below.
    Natalie shudders until it finally registers in my brain that I’m holding on to her
     and I should let go. Nat hates to be touched.
    I stare stupidly at the flames exploding out of our apartment. I can’t believe this
     is happening.

4. The Flanagan Girl
    Sunday, January 19, 1936
    The balcony vibrates with boots marching up and down the stairs. Water slops our feet.
     Buckets clank, hoses spray a fine mist on our heads.
    Officer Trixle has his bullhorn and he’s belting out orders while standing under the
     balcony light. “Get the kids outta here. Aim that away. Hot spots in the kitchen.”
     Mr. Bomini is on the front of the bucket brigade, pouring water on the fire while
     Mr. Mattaman operates the hose.
    Where are my parents? What time is it? Shouldn’t they be home? The last ferry is at
     11:30.
    I can’t stop shivering or keep my teeth from chattering. Nat is hunkered down next
     to me like an inanimate object. She doesn’t even seem to want her button box, which
     I’m surprised to see in my hand. I hardly remember grabbing it.
    Mrs. Mattaman gives me a gentle push. She has Baby Rocky, who is a year old, in her
     arms,