Free The King of Mulberry Street by Donna Jo Napoli

from her waist.
    “I paid my passage.”
    “The women's home is nice, I hear.” She jiggled her keys.
    “I hear it's a hellhole. I paid my passage.”
    I sidled past them and went downstairs. The bathroom was locked from the inside. I waited.
    An official appeared from around the corner. I looked at my feet and hardly breathed. He walked by.
    And still no one came out of the bathroom.
    Finally I knocked. “Excuse me?”
    The door opened a crack. An eye peeked at me. Then a hand grabbed my shirt and pulled me in, locking the door behind me.
    We were pressed against each other in the tiny stall. I looked up into a boy's face.
    “What are you doing making noise like that, trying to get me in trouble?” He was clearly from Napoli.
    “I just want to use the toilet,” I said.
    “No one's supposed to use this one after hours.” He frowned. “Go on.”
    I hunched over and did my business.
    “Hurry up,” he said. “And make sure no one sees you leave.”
    I reached for the doorknob.
    “Hold on.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you see if the stairs of separation were empty?”
    “Are you trying to sneak out?”
    His cheek twitched.
    “I want to sneak out, too,” I said.
    “You? What are you, nine? Ten? I'm fourteen. I can do a man's work. I can earn five dollars a week in a textile mill. Or even more. They won't let me work officially till I'm sixteen, but underage workers make it through all the time. I'm going to make it through.”
    “You'll look older with a little brother tagging along.”
    He pressed his lips together. “Get out of here.”
    I opened the door and peeked out.
    The boy shut the door, pulling me inside again. “You should have told me you're an orphan.”
    “Who says I'm an orphan?”
    “The
O
on the back of your shirt. Even if you do sneakthrough, whoever sees that
O
will turn you in and you'll be thrown into an orphanage. You won't get out till you're sixteen.”
    I took off my shirt, turned it inside out, and put it on.
    “That's too obvious. You need a new shirt. And pants, too. Yours are ripped. Tell you what. I know where you can get other clothes. But you have to promise to bring me back some, too.”
    “Okay.”
    “Why should I trust you?”
    “Why shouldn't you?”
    His forehead furrowed.
    “Look,” I said. “If I bring back clothes, you're better off. And if I don't, you're no worse off.”
    He swallowed. “You're too smart for your age.”
    “I'll bring back clothes,” I said. “I owe you for telling me what the O meant.” And then maybe you'll let me come with you, I thought. But I said, “That way we're even.”
    “Upstairs there's a room full of used clothes. Get me a coat. And pants and a shirt.”
    “I can't carry all that. Besides, it's hot out.”
    “Summer doesn't last forever, kid. It's not like Napoli. It snows here.”
    Snow? But what did it matter? I'd be home soon. “Where's the room?”
    “Somewhere upstairs. Search.” He opened the door a crack.
    I peeked, then raced up the stairs. I walked near the wall and glanced into open doors.
    I came to a closed door. Locked. But the next door opened to reveal piles of clothes. I shut the door behindme. From the window I saw people scurrying about. It would be easy to get lost in that crowd—and then I could figure out what to do next.
    Across the water tall buildings rose. A ship docked in the narrows. It looked small from here, a wolf in a canyon. Would I ever see the canyons near Napoli again? Would I ever see Mamma?
    Not if they threw me in an orphanage.
    I took the papers out of my pocket, finally. They were the documents the German translator had filled out. Somehow they would help me. I changed into a clean short-sleeved shirt and lightweight pants and tucked the papers in my new pocket. Then I grabbed a coat for the boy in the bathroom. I stuffed a shirt for him down one of the coat sleeves and a pair of pants down the other. I took the meat from my old shirt pocket and put it in the coat