Blow Out the Moon Read Free

(to the new time) with a low whirring sound.

    Morse code translates the alphabet into these dots and dashes, which you can send as long and short sounds or flashes of light. Henry and I used to tap it on our desks to each other, before the teacher moved us.
    It was only 10:10. I was waiting for the hand to jump to 10:12 or 10:13 (sometimes it jumps two minutes, sometimes three) when she told me again to get to work, so I did.
    Finally it was lunchtime. We had to walk down the stairs, without talking (that’s a rule); as soon as we got outside, we could run. I did — I was BURSTING with energy. I jumped down the steps and ran to the corner. Henry did, too. Then we had to wait for the policeman to cross us.
    “I had an idea,” I said. “We can write letters!”
    I could tell he liked the idea (by the way his eyes changed) even before he said, “And we can use code for things that are really private!”
    “You mean — make one up?” I said, walking backwards. “Or write the Morse code dots and dashes?”
    “I was thinking — make one up.”
    “That would be more private,” I said.
    From across the street, a boy in our class yelled that I had told Miss Jessup on him. (Of course, I hadn’t.) Before I could answer, Henry shouted, really angrily: “She did not! I’ve known her since she was in kindergarten and she doesn’t snitch!”
    Henry always sticks up for me.
    We walked along, first scuffing, then kicking, the leaves up from the sidewalk.
    “When are you leaving?” he said.
    “In two weeks.”
    “Then you can come over on Saturday!”
    “I’ll ask,” I said. “Oh, I hope I can! We could play pioneers!”
    “And finish our fort!” Henry said.
    Above me, the leaves blazed yellow, as though the sun was coming right through them. Then one leaf fell down kind of slowly, twirling in the sun.
    I ran to catch it — and I did catch it. Henry saw me and we both started laughing (it wasn’t funny, we were just happy). Then another leaf twirled down, slowly — it was yellow, too. We both ran for it, and I wished everything could stay just as it was at that moment forever and ever … that it could always be this sunny fall day and Henry and I could always be in it together.

Chapter Three:
    Two Tea Parties
    But on Saturday I couldn’t go to Henry’s, because an English boy and his mother were coming over for tea. My mother set everything up on the living room table (including the fat silver sugar bowl filled with sugar lumps — you take them out with silver tongs), and reminded us to pass things to the guests first. One good thing about our mother is that she never corrects our manners in front of other people. I wish everyone’s mother would do this. I hate it when parents say things like “What do you say?” or scold their children in front of you.
    When the guests came, the mothers introduced themselves and said ladylike things like, “Please call me Sally.”
    Then Mrs. Grant said, “And this is my son Neil.”
    “And this is my oldest daughter, Libby.” My mother squeezed my shoulders and I knew she wanted me to say hello politely, so I did. Emmy did, too; Willy and Bubby just stood behind my mother, but they did stop giggling. Then we all sat down and the mothers talked.
    We looked at Neil and he looked at us. Everything about him was light. His hair was yellow-white — more white than yellow — and his skin was pink and white, even more than ours, and his eyes were light blue and the whites were very white. He had bangs, which most boys don’t. Most boys I know have crew cuts.
    Neil ate slowly and carefully, wiping his mouth after every bite. He sat up very straight — even his clothes were very straight — and he didn’t spill anything, not even his tea. He seemed like a real goody-goody. You probably have already figured out that I’m not. But I haven’t said what I look like yet, so I’ll describe myself now, too. I’m short for my age — everyone in my class is taller than I