Hound Dog True Read Online Free Page B

looks like chalk. "They're okay. I can use white on them, which you can't do with regular paper. Besides, I'll only be here a couple of days. I'm going home after my brother's operation is done. He's not going to die, you know."
    "I know," Mattie says. She doesn't know any such thing, really, but something about the way Quincy talks makes Mattie feel like she ought to.
    "It's just a regular operation for his hernia."
    Mattie feels herself blush. She's not sure what a hernia is, but it seems like if you had one, you wouldn't want people knowing about it. Like warts or a bad report card.
    Mattie waits for Quincy to say more, but Quincy doesn't. The carrot stack blocks Mattie's view of Quincy's drawing, but she hears the rough of her chalk on the store bags. Hears Uncle Potluck inside clanging kitchen pots, too. Hears a talk-show lady on Miss Sweet's TV telling people to live their dreams and giving them a free electric ice cream maker to take home.
    A truck rumbles by on the dirt road out front.
    Birds tease in the trees.
    Quincy keeps on silent-drawing.
    What is Mattie supposed to do now?
    Doesn't seem right to leave. Not with Quincy saying what she just did about her brother. Mattie could pretend she has to go to the bathroom, but she'd have to come back after and then maybe Quincy'd be done drawing carrots and start asking more questions. Better to save the bathroom for when she really needs it.
    If she lays her notebook flat on the rock, probably Quincy won't see Mattie's writing over the carrot stack, just like she can't see Quincy's drawing.
    Mattie puts her thoughts back on custodial wisdom. The trash company comes on Tuesdays and Fridays. She remembers the man with the arm tattoos who Uncle Potluck introduced as Chuck Canteloni, King of Garbage, and how Chuck Canteloni had said if ever he found a Queen of Garbage he would be content.
    Was that custodial wisdom? Mattie writes it down, just in case. Sticks to just imagining what sort of crown a Queen of Garbage would wear and what their palace might be like. Pictures a Royal Garbage Wedding, too—pictures it so hard she can almost smell the garbage truck, see a JUST MARRIED sign hanging off the back. Pictures a garbage reception. Dancing. Wedding guests in tattered dresses, one of them dabbing a tissue to her eyes, saying how it just proves there's someone out there for everyone.
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    "Girls!" Uncle Potluck stands on the porch, banging a pot lid with a spoon. "Time to carry in the carrots, please."
    Mattie looks up, surprised, almost, to find she is not at the garbage wedding. Surprised, almost, to find herself at the rock and Quincy Sweet there looking up, too.
    The apple tree shadow is long on the grass, and Mama's car is in the drive. When did Mama get home?
    Quincy Sweet blinks. She is smiling a straight-across smile.
    Mattie thinks Quincy will talk then, but she doesn't. Doesn't ask questions, either. Just closes her toolbox.
    Mattie closes her notebook, too. Grabs the carrots by their tops. The quiet keeps on. Feels like it would break something to talk now, Mattie thinks. Wonders if Quincy thinks so, too.
    Down they go, down the rise, toward the house together, carrying carrots.

CHAPTER TEN
    "W ANT TO SAY WHY NOT? " Mama asks.
    "My stomach hurts," says Mattie. It is not a lie. Her stomach does hurt. Has hurt ever since Mama said again maybe Quincy could come for a sleepover.
    Mattie puts down her fork. Ducks her chin. Feels Mama watching her. It is a new thing, this watching, new since they've been at Uncle Potluck's. Mama watching like she's trying to read Mattie's thoughts. If Mama knew Mattie's scaredy-cat thoughts, she'd be disappointed, probably.
    So Mattie thinks instead about janitorial safety. About cleaning solutions and how putting two different kinds together can seem like you'd make one super-cleaning kind, but really it can make poison. How you could be cleaning, thinking you're making everything better, and then—just by breathing—you'd