If You Come Softly Read Online Free

will get into college,” Marion said.
    “The only reason Percy has a ninety-eight percent college acceptance rate is because the kids are rich. Their parents buy them good grades.”
    Marion frowned. “That doesn’t happen.”
    I shrugged. “Maybe.”
    “No one can buy you a high SAT score, Elisha. No one can buy you a high reading level.”
    I raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. “Things have changed, Marion.”
    All of my brothers and sisters had gone to Jefferson High. And from there, they had all gotten into decent universities. When I argued this, my mother said, That was a long time ago, before we had money to send you to private school. Things have changed.
    “Not that much,” she said now, rising to clear the table. “I made some apple tarts for dessert. Your favorite. Maybe in your junior year you can have the boy over for tarts and tea.”
    I handed her my plate. “Marion,” I said. “If—”
    “I know, I know, Elisha. If there was a boy, which there isn‘t, he wouldn’t be apple tart and tea kind.”

Chapter 3
    HE LOVED THE LIGHT IN HIS MAMA’S KITCHEN. THE yellow stained-glass panes across the top of the windows buttered the room a soft gold-even now, in the early evening with the rain coming down hard outside.
    “Your daddy left a message,” his mama said. “Said he had to go out to L.A. Be back Sunday night. Left a number.”
    “Guess I’m spending the week here then.” Jeremiah glanced out the kitchen window. There was no light on in his father’s apartment. He was glad he didn’t have to make a decision. Every night it was the same thing. You gonna stay here? You gonna stay here? His mama and daddy’s voices beating against the side of his head, begging him as if they were really saying, Choose me. No, choose me. For the hundredth time, no, maybe the thousandth time, he wished he had a brother or sister—somebody to go up against them with. Someone to help relieve some of the stuff they put him through. How long would it have to be like this anyway? Two addresses. Two phone numbers. Two bedrooms.
    Jeremiah sighed and sat down at the kitchen table and watched his mama fuss with pots and pans. She was making spaghetti sauce-the way they liked it with lots of peppers and onions and no meat. A long time ago, she’d given up red meat. Little by little Jeremiah gave it up too. Every once in a while, he found himself craving a burger with ketchup and mayo the way he used to like it. But it had been a long time since he’d eaten one. It would probably make him sick to his stomach now. He let his basketball roll back and forth between his feet for a few minutes then kicked it gently into the corner.
    “You hungry?”
    Jeremiah nodded. The kitchen smelled like garlic and tomatoes. “I guess so.”
    His mother looked at him a moment. She was pretty-his mama was. He’d always thought so. She wore her hair short, tied her head up with pretty scarves. Tonight she was wearing an orange and yellow one, wrapped high like a turban. Her skin was dark like his and smooth. People said they had the same mouth-wide and soft. And the same eyes. His eyes were light brown like hers and people were always asking them if they were wearing contact lenses. Now his mother smiled, shaking her head. She pressed her fingers to her lips.
    “What?” Jeremiah said, feeling his own face break into a smile. This evening, his mama was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with Vassar printed across the front. She had gone there, had studied literature and film. The summer after she graduated, she took a film course at NYU that his father was teaching. She had heard of him—had even seen a couple of his movies. They dated a long time before they married. I wanted to be sure he was the right man, his mother used to say.
    She didn’t have much to say about his daddy anymore.
    “You gonna tell me how your first day was or am I going to have to guess.”
    “You gonna have to guess,” Jeremiah said.
    His mother turned back