Keeping Score Read Online Free

Robinson fan, too. "Biggest thing that's ever happened in baseball" was how Dad put it.
    But Maggie had been only five years old when Jackie broke in, and she hadn't understood very much about baseball back then. So she didn't have any real memories of his first year with the Dodgers. And now, four years later, almost every team had Negro ballplayers.
    No, it was the
spark
Jackie had, how he seemed to light up the whole game when he was on the field. So she told Joey-Mick that Jackie was her favorite player, too.
    "No dice," Joey-Mick said immediately.
    "Why not?"
    "'Cause he's
my
favorite player. We can't both have
him as our favorite player, and I had him first. So you gotta pick someone else."
    "But why can't both of us—"
    "Because," he said firmly. "Now, who's your second-favorite player?"
    Maggie hesitated. She still wanted Jackie, but it was an interesting question. "Pee Wee," she said. "No, wait. Roy Campanella."
    "See, there you go. One of them's can be your favorite player."
    She had chosen Campy in the end, which was no shame—he was terrific, both at the plate and behind it. But she didn't feel the same way about Campy that she did about Jackie. She wondered why she hadn't fought harder. Joey-Mick wasn't in charge of the world. Since when did he get to decide favorite-player rules? But if she had stuck with Jackie, her brother would think she was copycatting, no matter what she said.

    Joey-Mick slammed the door on his way out. Maggie sighed and tugged at the collar of her dress so she could blow down the front of it. Then she wandered into the kitchen, opened the Frigidaire door, and took out a bottle of milk. Not to drink, but so she could press the cool glass against her forehead.
    "Put that back," Mom said automatically without even looking up from the onion she was chopping. "And I'll go to my grave telling you to keep the Frigidaire door closed!"
    Maggie put the bottle back on the shelf. She let the door swing shut and made sure to stand right where she could feel the last puff of lovely cool air.
    "What's for supper?" she asked, more out of boredom than curiosity.
    "Sausage and macaroni," Mom answered. "It's Wednesday, so it is."
    Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were macaroni nights. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday meant potatoes. Sundays alternated. That was how it had been ever since Maggie's parents got married—Rose Fitzpatrick and Joe Fortini, Irish and Italian. The only time the pattern was interrupted was when one of the uncles came for dinner. If it was Uncle Pat, Mom cooked potatoes no matter what day it was; for Uncle Leo, macaroni. Maggie liked both potatoes and macaroni, and she was glad she didn't have to eat just one all the time. At Treecie's house they almost always had potatoes.
    Mom nodded toward a plate on the countertop. "There," she said, "for that dog friend of yours." And she pointed the tip of her knife at the naked bone that had already done double-duty in Sunday's roast and Monday's soup.
    Maggie gave Mom a hug. "Thanks," she said.
    "Oof. Don't be hanging on to me in this heat. Go on with yourself now."
    Maggie smiled as she took the bone and left. Mom wouldn't have a dog in the house, but a week never went by that she didn't have a little something for Maggie to give Charky.
    The dog greeted her as usual, half a block from the
firehouse. Maggie made him sit, beg, and speak before she gave him the bone. He hurried back to the station, looking over his shoulder as he loped along, to make sure she was following.
    When Maggie got near the firehouse, she could see the new guy—Jim, she reminded herself, Jim Maine—sitting out front with his radio. The Giants' game. Nobody else was around; the other guys were probably inside.
    Jim had a notebook on his lap and was writing in it. He didn't look up when Charky bounded past and went to his bed, where he lay down, gnawing joyfully.
    Jim seemed very busy with whatever he was working on. It would probably be rude to