4 The News Team
After school, Charlie comes over to my place. So does Aldeen.
“You can stay here,” I say to her as we have our snack. I’m still mad at her about our “deal,” and all she does is complain, anyway.
Aldeen grabs the last cookie and says, “Uh-uh. I’m coming.”
We go out to the porch. I stick the papers in the bag.
“Hey,” Aldeen orders, “Count them first. Your mom said.”
I glare at her. Her eyes squinch back. I think about snot pounding.
We count.
Down the street, I give Charlie the papers. I show him how to fold one.
“That’s sloppy,” snaps Aldeen. “Do it right.”
“You do it, if you’re so smart,” I say.
“It’s not my paper route,” she says, packing a slush ball. She heaves it at a phone pole. It hits a parked car instead.
Charlie keeps delivering papers. Aldeen keeps complaining.
“This sucks,” she says, heaving more ice balls. “Hurry up. I’m cold. This is boring.” The ice balls miss. If she thinks this is boring, she should try it alone.
And really, we’re moving fast. I’m puffing to keep up with Charlie. Even popsicle-stick Aldeen is hurrying. We can’t get one house ahead of her before she comes racing up like some little kid who’s scared of getting lost.
“Just throw the papers,” she insists to Charlie, “Like they do on TV.”
“Noooo,” I groan. “My mom —”
“That’s just because you’re a crummy thrower. Gimme that.” Aldeen drops her ice ball, grabs the paper and heaves it at a house. It sails past the porch, whangs off the front window and lands way up in a big bush that still has Christmas lights. A bunch of lights fall off.
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“Aldeen,” I yell, “That’s not even the right house!”
I huff over and jump for the paper. I miss — but not everything. Something crunches under my boots as I come down. Christmas lights. The door of the house opens.
It’s going to cost an extra two weeks of work on the paper route to pay for the lights. I work it out as we trudge home. I decide not to tell Mom.
“You owe me,” I tell Aldeen.
“It’s not my fault,” she says, “I was just helping. Now do your homework so we can copy it.”