"Patricia A. McKillip - Naming Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

the ancient thaumaturges had written their spells. “What do you think about
when you think about me?”

Her mother, turning bacon at the stove, flung her a haggard,
incredulous glance. She was pregnant again, at her age, and prone to
throwing up at odd times. An unfortunate situation, Averil thought privately,
since they had moved from a house in the suburbs to a much smaller
apartment in the city for Averil’s sake, to be as close as possible to
Oglesby. Where, she wondered, were her impractical parents planning to
put a baby? In the laundry basket? In the walk-in closet with Felix, where it
was likely to be shoved under his bed along with his toys and shoes? Her
brother chose that moment to draw atten-tion from her compelling question
by banging his small fist on the tines of a fork to cause the spoon lying
across the handle to go spinning into the air.

“Felix!” their mother cried. “Stop that.”

“Bacon, bacon, I want bacon!” Felix shouted. The spoon bounced on
his head, then clattered onto the floor. He squinted his eyes, opened his
mouth wide. Averil got up hastily before he began to howl.

“Averil—wait. Stop.”

“Mom, gotta go; I’ll be late.”

“I need you to come home right after your classes today.” A banshee
shriek came out of Felix; their mother raised her voice. “I want you to watch
Felix.”

Averil’s violet eyes skewed in horror toward her squalling baby
brother, whose tonsils were visible. He had just turned four, a skinny, noisy,
mind-less bundle of mischief and energy whom Averil seriously doubted
was quite right in the head.

“Sorry, Mom.” She grabbed her book bag hastily. After all, her mother
had nothing else to do. “I have group study after school.”

“Averil—”

“Mom, it’s important! I’m good at my studies—one of the best in a
decade, Miss Braeburn says. She thinks I can get a full scholarship to the
University of Ancient Arts if I keep up my grades. That’s why we moved
here, isn’t it? Anyway, my friends are waiting for me.” Something in her
mother’s expression, not unlike the mingling of admiration and despair that
Averil’s presence caused in less gifted students, made her round the table
quickly, trying not to clout Felix with her book bag, and breathe a kiss on her
mother’s cheek. “Ask me again after Naming Day. I might have time then.”

She discussed the situation with her friends Deirdre, Tamara, and
Nicholaus, as they walked to school.