Where Do You Stay Read Online Free

selling Miss Myrtle’s house,” he says softly, “somebody ought to at least let Sharon know.”
    “Who’s Sharon?” Monte asks.
    “She used to live here,” I say. “A long time ago.”
    Damon kicks at the wall and a stone falls off the side. “Everyone knows this place is an eyesore,” he says. He drags that word out. Eyesore, makes your eyes sore. Nothing ever makes my eyes sore, but Damon makes my head ache. “And it’s haunted too,” he says.
    “No such thing,” I say. Don’t believe that kind of talk, Jerome , Mama said. That’s just people trying to scare you.
    Damon laughs. “I dare you to come up here on Halloween,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
    Mr. Willie stands up straight so he’s even taller than Damon. “Whoever says that house is an eyesore has never been inside. The f loor is inlaid with different colored pieces of wood, some teak, some cherry. You know what a mosaic is? That’s what’s on that floor. And the windows are stained glass with leadedpanes.” Mr. Willie has his eyes shut, remembering.
    “There’s not a single window pane in that whole building,” Damon says.
    “And the steps of white marble, so cool on my skin.” Mr. Willie drops his head, goes over to the hose, and splashes water onto his face. He comes back to where the fishing pole is leaning against the carriage house. “It does need some work,” he says, picking up the stone that Damon knocked loose and setting it back where it belongs.
    “Come on,” Damon says to his brother. I know he’s thinking Let’s leave those two alone, they’re so crazy. Some of the other neighborhood kids are hanging around by the basketball net.
    Monte looks like he wants to stay.
    “Come on,” Damon says again. He grabs his brother by the shirt and drags him down the hill.

8
    Mr. Willie puts some water into a bucket, adds a little cement, and mixes it with a small trowel.
    “We better hurry and fix this place up,” he says.
    “What if they really do tear it down?” I ask.
    “That’s why we better get fixing,” Mr. Willie says. “So they can see the beauty in the stone work.” He drops a glob of cement onto the top of the wall, sets a stone in it, and smoothes off the extra.
    I watch for a minute, then pick up a stone and set it into the next glob of cement. We work like that until we finish the row.
    “When the wall is done, we’ll work on the vegetable garden,” Mr. Willie says.
    “My mother said I have a green thumb,” I say. “We had a nice garden alongside our fence with tomatoes and cucumbers and carrots.”
    “A green thumb goes with the music,” Mr. Willie says.
    “It does?”
    “Piano fingers and a green thumb.” Mr. Willie scrapes the last bit of cement out of the bucket. “Go hand in hand.”
    Suddenly there’s a question I have to ask. “Mr. Willie?”
    “What is it?”
    “Where are you going to stay if they really do tear this place down?”
    Mr. Willie walks over to the hose and rinses out the bucket. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
    “But what if you’re inside when they come with the bulldozer?”
    Mr. Willie sets the bucket upside down to dry. “A bulldozer makes plenty of noise. And my ears are plenty good.”
    “But where would you stay after that?” My eyes are burning again and I don’t even really know why. Too much mulling, thinking about Mama and our garden and how Mr. Willie could have stayed with us on our foldout cot in the living room with the piano right close by.
    “I’ll figure something out,” Mr. Willie says.
    I wanted to keep on living in my old house. I could have gotten up and fixed myself oatmeal for breakfast, then walked to school with David. I’d need some kind of job to buy my clothes, but I could grow carrots and beans and cucumbers to eat. David’s mother wouldn’t care if I came for dinner now and then. And if I got good enough, I could play the piano for celebrations like weddings to earn a little money. But Mama said No,