I Kill the Mockingbird Read Online Free

of Christmas decorations into a corner. “Sure,” I tell her.
    “Can I ride the tricycle?”
    I point to a big wire cargo bin that’s fastened behind the trike’s seat. “We’ll have to put something heavy in there or else it tips over really easily.”
    Elena moves the plastic dollfrom the basket to the bin.
    “Baby Jesus is not enough,” I warn her. “You’ve got to have a lower center of gravity.” I find a small, unopened bag of rock salt and place it into the bin next to the doll. “Now you should be okay.” I grab the pink princess three-speed that my parents got me when I turned ten. It’s too small for me now, but I still like it. “We’re going to the Green,” I shout intothe kitchen.
    “Okay,” Dad calls back.
    “Michael is playing baseball at the Green,” says Elena.
    “So?”
    She shrugs. “I’m just saying.”
    Together, we pedal away from the garage and then down the driveway. I’m behind Elena, and I see one wheel of the tricycle lift slightly off the road when we turn onto the road. “Be careful!” I call after her.
    “Don’t worry!” She stands on the pedals and speedsaway.
    We roll down my street, and Elena waves at my neighbors. Michael’s driveway is empty, which means that his mom is probably cruising around town in a West Glover police car. During the school year, she’s the police officer who makes classroom visits encouraging kids to read books, stay off drugs, pick up trash, learn how to swim, put out forest fires, and grow up to be president one day.When she’s not at work, Mrs. Buskirk is a coach for a bunch of different youth softball and baseball teams. As for Michael’s dad, neither Elena nor I have ever met him. Michael gets Christmas and birthday cards from his father now and then, but he’s not part of the family photo album.
    Elena and I stop at the signal light on Main Street. If we turn right, we’ll reach Uncle Mort’s bookshop. Ifwe turn left, we’ll see the West Glover Public Library, which is just a block away. Instead, we cross Main Street then keep going straight. One more block brings us to the Federal Green, a wide, open park at the heart of our town.
    Back in Puritan days, West Glover’s Federal Green held a community sheep grazing pasture, an outdoor market, and a set of stocks and pillories for troublemakers toendure public humiliation. Now it’s home to tall gnarled sycamores, a brightly colored play structure, and a couple rough, mowed baseball fields. There’s a soccer field and a big, white bandstand, too.
    The metallic clank of an aluminum bat echoes across the park. Elena and I turn toward the baseball diamond and pedal through the grass. The baby Jesus bounces around the tricycle’s storage basketlike a kangaroo on a trampoline until we finally stop at the wooden stands near the first-base line. That’s where we find Michael, all dressed up in his green-and-white Little League uniform. He’s sitting by himself in the bleacher’s first row.
    Elena cruises to a stop beside the bleachers. “What are you doing?” she says to Michael.
    Michael looks up from a worn copy of Fahrenheit 451 . “What doesit look like I’m doing?”
    “It doesn’t look like baseball.”
    “I played in the first game. They asked me to sit this one out.”
    “Why?” I ask him.
    “I hit four home runs.”
    Elena remains in her tricycle seat. “So?”
    “And seven RBIs.”
    “Seven is a lot,” I say.
    “It might have been eight.” Michael scuffs his shoes in the dirt. “And then they kicked me off the team.”
    “Excuse me?” asks Elena.
    Michaelshrugs. “After my last home run, the coach on the other team complained. He says I can’t be fourteen years old.”
    “But Michael,” I say, “you are fourteen years old.”
    Michael nods toward the opposing team’s bench. “According to them, I’m sixteen or eighteen or thirty-seven.”
    Elena stands on the tricycle’s pedals. “That must have been some home run.”
    Michael points across