There had been a wonderful goal—making the day care rooms bright and cheerful for a hundred little kids who were hopping up and down because they needed to go to the bathroom so bad. But arguing with Grandfather never got Austin anywhere.
Now he stared into his soul, the one that thought he deserved better than Venita and Davonn and Chamique and Isaiah, and that didn’t get him anywhere, either.
At school, Macey was a celebrity.
People came over and exclaimed over her close call, and how lucky she was to be alive, and how glad they were she had not burned to a crisp. Boys, girls, teachers and parents said carefully, “And I love your hair like that.”
“It’s enough to make a person suspicious,” said Macey to Austin.
“What do you mean?”
“Too many compliments. I feel as if I’m going around with my head on a spike for people to stare at.”
Austin was laughing. “It’s a nice head.”
“It still smells of burn.”
“No, it doesn’t. You just remember burning. I do, too. I dream it at night. In my dream, the flames aren’t on your head, they’re around my feet, and when I try to step out, the fire climbs into my hands and my hands burn off.”
“Nice,” said Macey.
“Don’t suggest a counselor. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“On Sunday, I wrote to Venita, care of Reverend Warren at Good Shepherd, because I didn’t know her last name, let alone her address.”
“Yeah? She write back?”
“Right away. She said it’s mostly smoke damage and since they’re painting anyway, they’re not really in a worse position. The problem is after-school care. Until it’s painted, which was supposed to be over the weekend, they have a hundred little kids with nowhere to go.” Macey showed Austin the letter. “In my letter, I told Venita I’d rather e-mail, so I gave her my e-mail address, and you know what she said in her letter?”
“What?”
“She said they don’t have any computers at her high school. Do you believe that?”
She was actually asking him this, so he said, “Yes, I believe it. It’s an inner-city school. They’re way behind on everything. Didn’t you hear her say they couldn’t even read American literature this year because they didn’t have classroom copies of the books?”
“Yes, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Well, they don’t have computers.”
“This is Connecticut,” protested Macey.
Austin was not now and never had been interested in Connecticut. And yet it amazed him that Macey could think every town in the entire state was a duplicate of her own immensely wealthy town.