26 Fairmount Avenue Read Free Page B

circle”—stuff like that.)
    â€œI’m Tomie dePaola,” I said.

    â€œOh, aren’t we lucky,” she said. “I had your big brother, Joseph, in kindergarten, too,” (she was talking about Buddy). Well, I figured it wouldn’t take too long for her to realize that my brother and I were very different. But that could wait.
    â€œWhen do we learn how to read?” I asked.
    â€œOh, we don’t learn how to read in kindergarten. We learn to read next year, in first grade.”
    â€œFine,” I said. “I’ll be back next year.” And I walked right out of the school and all the way home.
    No one was there. My dad was working at the barbershop, and my mom was off shopping all by herself for the first time in a long while.
    The school called my dad at the barbershop. He found my mom, and they came roaring home to Columbus Avenue.
    There I was, holding one of my mom’s big books, staring at it, hoping that I could learn to read by myself.

    When I told Mom and Dad what had happened, my dad said, “You handle this one, Floss.” And he went back to work.
    My mom sat down next to me. “You know,” she said, “if you don’t go to kindergarten, you won’t pass. And if you don’t pass, you’ll never get into first grade, and you’ll never learn to read.”
    So I went back to school, but I never really liked kindergarten.

Chapter Six

    N ow it was time to start “the backyard project.” The first thing we had to do was to burn off all the stuff that was growing there. It was a Saturday, so Buddy and I weren’t at school, and our friends and neighbors came to help. Carol Crane came, too.
    It was a sunny day, with no wind blowing. “That’s very important,” my dad told us.
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    â€œWell, if it’s windy, the fire could spread and the house might burn down.” I sure didn’t want that to happen.
    â€œOkay,” my dad said. “Let’s begin!”
    â€œAll right kids,” my mom said. “Stand back out of the way.”
    My dad, Mr. Tony Nesci, Mr. Johnny Papallo, Mr. Crane, and a bunch of other people stood around all three sides of the field with old brooms, buckets of water, and wet burlap bags. My mom stood holding a hose attached to the one water faucet that worked. Everyone was ready.
    They lit the fire at the edges, and it blazed right up. They wet their brooms and put out the flames around the outside of the circle. They did such a good job keeping the flames low that the whole fire went out.
    â€œTry again, Joe!” someone called to my dad. This time he lit the fire in the middle, and it caught and burned bright and strong. Everyone shouted, “Hurray!”

    But then the smoke started to get in people’s eyes. They ran from the edges. Suddenly the fire was really big. Everyone was shouting and banging the flames with wet brooms and burlap bags.
    Brooms caught fire. Burlap bags caught fire. The smoke got thicker.
    â€œQuick, Floss,” my dad shouted. “The hose, the hose!”
    â€œBuddy! Turn on the faucet!” Mom shouted. Water streamed out of the hose.
    â€œWet down the house,” Uncle Charles yelled. My mom did.
    â€œPut out the flames!” Mrs. Florence Nesci shouted. My mom aimed the hose at the fire. She kept squirting water all over the place until the fire was out. What a mess!

    The weeds and grasses were black and smoking. So were the people. Everyone had black, sooty faces and smoky clothes. And everyone except my mom was soaking wet.

    â€œLook what you’ve done to us,” Mr. Tony Nesci said.
    â€œWell, I saved the house, didn’t I?” Mom said, laughing.
    She sure did, and I was glad. Can you imagine having to start all over again? No, thank you.
    With the backyard all burned down, my dad hired an old Italian man who had a horse and a plow. It took a few days for the man to plow the