Free Also Known As Harper by Ann Haywood Leal Page A

your teeth.”
    I made up a quick peanut-butter sandwich and wrapped it in one of the washcloths from the bathroom. Then I grabbed two apples and put everything in the front pocket of my backpack and tied my shoes. “Get your backpack. We’re going out for abit.” I opened Hem’s plastic pencil box and checked for markers and extra pencils and dropped it into his backpack with his handwriting book and drawing pad.
    Hem put his backpack over both shoulders and fastened the lower strap around his belly. “Can we see if Randall wants to go, too?”
    â€œNot this time.” I checked the clock. “Let’s get a move on.”
    He marched along beside me up to the main road with his hands holding tightly to the straps of his backpack.
    I reached for his hand. “Hold on to me now, Hem. The traffic’s pretty busy up on the main road.”
    The traffic was more than busy. The cars were going by like on the highway, and I almost turned us both back to the motel. But then I saw the yellow bus slowing down as it came around the corner, and I forgot about being scared. I took a step forward and put my hand up for the driver to stop.
    As soon as the doors folded open, Hem started up the steps.
    â€œHe’s a little young for high school, don’t you think?” The bus driver took a sip of her coffee and smiled at us.
    I climbed to the second step and took hold of a strap on Hem’s backpack. A boy looked to be asleep in the first seat. He rested his head on his coat up against the window, and I could see he was growing himself a mustache.
    The bus driver took another sip of her coffee and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Elementary bus’ll be by in a little while. But you two might want to wait up at the bus shelter. This isn’t a very safe place to stand.” She pointed down the road to a red-and-white wooden shack with a long bench.
    â€œThanks.” I tugged at Hem’s backpack and stepped back onto the gravel next to the road. A girl threw a candy wrapper out through the window at me as the bus took off.
    Hem bounced on the balls of his feet. “You didn’t tell me we were going to ride the bus today!”
    â€œYeah, well, I just thought of it.” I pulled him toward the red-and-white shack.
    I handed him an apple from my backpack and sat down on the bench. Then I rested my backpack on my lap and put my hand inside to check for my poems. I knew my blue notebook without even looking. The edge corners were soft, like Mama’s cotton housecoat, from turning the pages back and forth sooften. As soon as Mrs. Rodriguez checked my poems, I could turn in my permission slip and I’d be home free. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting back to school until the day of the contest, when I’d be reading my poems at the microphone up on the auditorium stage.
    I heard the bus coming and I pulled Hemingway to his feet.

 
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Chapter Thirteen
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    WHEN THE DOORS folded open, Hem didn’t move forward even one step. And I didn’t blame him. The bus driver looked like the cranky cashier from the last lane at the supermarket when Mama was counting out her coupons.
    He leaned sideways in his seat and put his hand on the lever that closed the door. “This isn’t one of my stops.” He reached his hand out. “You got your paperwork?”
    â€œI got papers.” Hem took off his backpack and rifled around inside. He pulled out his best drawing of the side of our house with the dirt pile for his trucks. I knew him to be plenty proud of that drawing, and I wanted to give that bus driver a good hard kick in his big old bus seat when he didn’t even take a short look at it.
    I put my hand on Hem’s shoulder. “We need a special paper?” My permission-slip paper seemed to be burning a hole right through my backpack and onto my side.
    The bus driver took a loud breath and rolled his eyes to