Crenshaw

51

The music store looked pretty run-down. We waited in the car while my parents went to talk to the owner. It took a long time. Robin and I played cerealball with her T-ball cap and some sugarless bubble gum.

“You remember those purple jelly beans?” Robin asked.

“The magic ones?”

Robin nodded. “They were maybe not so magic.”

I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“They were from Kylie’s birthday party.” Robin pulled on her ponytail. “I just wanted you to think they were magic. But there’s no such thing. Of course.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Could be magic happens sometimes.”

“Really?” Robin asked.

“Really,” I said.

When my parents came out of the store, they were smiling. They shook a man’s hand, and he gave my dad a set of keys.

“Got the job,” my dad said. “It’s part-time, but with everything else, it should help. And we can stay in that apartment for a month, anyway. Hopefully by then we’ll have come up with yet another plan. We really want to keep you and Robin at the same school. We’re going to do our best, but there are no guarantees.”

“I know,” I said, and even though it didn’t solve all our problems, I felt a little better.

The garage apartment was tiny, with only one bedroom. There was no TV, and the carpeting was a weary beige.

Still. It had a roof and a door and a family who needed it.