Lily's Crossing Read Free Page A

other end of Queens all winter, had no idea that she was a last-row, last-seat kid in school with terrible marks in everything except reading. Margaret didn’t know she told lies every other minute. No, she didn’t know any of that. That’s what made her such a perfect friend.
    “I know we were going to do a ton of stuff,” Margaret said, “but this is important, right? My father has to help win the war. And you could link up with those kids in Broad Channel . . .”
    Lily stared out the window. She couldn’t even begin to think about getting herself over to Broad Channel, walking up and down the streets, looking for friends, trying to act like Shirley Temple, the actress, when she saw a kid her age, trying to smile. My name is
Lily Mollahan, la la, what’s yours?
She shuddered, thinking about it.
    “Did you hear something?” Margaret asked, raising one hand.
    Lily listened a little nervously. It couldn’t be Nazis on such a sunny day. Maybe Margaret’s mother back from the stores?
    Margaret shook her head. “I guess not.” She held the box of Walnettos up to her nose and breathed in. “Of course going to Willow Run isn’t quite as good as having an aunt a spy.”
    “No,” Lily said.
    “Or a cousin a general in the navy.”
    Lily tried to look modest. She couldn’t even remember telling Margaret that.
    “I have one more secret. It’s another birthday present. It’ll make you feel better when I’m gone.” Margaret reached under her collar and pulled a key, knotted in a brown shoelace, over her head. “This is for you, the back door key. You can sneak in, come right up to the attic, and write your next five books.”
    Lily took a breath. This place, hers. She’d be here by herself, nobody knowing, without Gram telling her to stop reading and get herself outside in the fresh air, without the radio blaring war news in back of her. She’d write a wonderful book, never mind the spelling, never mind Sister Eileen.
    She took the key, still warm from Margaret’s neck, and looped it under her blouse. “This is the best present I’ve ever had.”
    “I know it.” Margaret glanced at the brown paper bag. “And you got the best candy bar. I love those Milky Ways.”
    “You’re right.” Lily reached into her pocket and handed it to Margaret. “Have a bite of this. Have it all.”
    Margaret thought a moment. “It’s only fair. You’ve got the attic, an aunt a spy, your father probably going overseas any minute, and you’ve already written thirteen books.”
    “Fourteen. . . . ,” Lily began, another lie, and stopped. “Poppy’s not going overseas. He’s not going anywhere.” She shook her head. “You forgot. He’s an engineer. He’s important right where he is, working in the city.”
    Margaret peeled the paper back off the rest of the candy bar. “My father said he probably would go this summer.”
    Lily scrambled to her feet. “Your father’s wrong.”
    Then she saw Margaret’s eyes widen. “Holy mackerel,” Margaret said, “it’s my mother.”
    Lily looked over her shoulder. Mrs. Dillon was coming up the attic steps. Lily could see the top of her head first, and then her shoulders.
    They scooped the candy back into the bag, Lily trying to swallow the rest of the butterscotch, which was stuck to her back teeth.
    And then Mrs. Dillon was right there, standing in front of them, looking as if she would burst into tears. “How could you?” she said, looking at Margaret. “I walked for blocks for that candy, one store after another, this one didn’t have peppermints, the other didn’t have Hershey’s. There’s a war on, no candy . . .” Mrs. Dillon looked out the window. “My poor Eddie,” she said.
    Lily edged her way to the stairs, feeling guilty, feeling horrible. “I think I’d better go home now,” she said using her best manners. “It was very nice of you to have me over.”
    She rushed down the stairs, and as she let herself out the door, she could hear