"Mary Rosenblum - Color Vision" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

“No. Yes. I’m okay.” Which I’m not. I look back but nobody comes
charging out after us. “I’m going home. You better get back in there before
you get detention.”

“What happened?” He doesn’t go. “How come he called you
Dreyling? How come you threw up?”

“Food poisoning.” I head across the playground, waiting for
somebody to start yelling. I guess maybe I could tell myself that I was
imagining a weird silver voice like that . . . but I felt it and it hurt. And then
there was Mr. Beasley and the gold dish.

And Mr. Teleomara.

I gotta talk to Cris.

“I ate in the cafeteria, too.” Jeremy catches up to me. “And I’m not
puking. And what about your mom? My mom told me she was dead. She
said not to talk about her because you were in denial.”
 “She’s not dead.” I really snap at him, then I feel bad. Jeremy stuck
up for me when I first came here, last winter. He talks to me when the In
Crowd won’t. “Sorry.” I sigh. “Look, I gotta go talk to somebody. It’s really
impor-tant.” We’re across the playground now, still nobody yelling. I can’t
believe how easy it is to skip school. I duck through the hedge beyond the
swings and monkey bars, into the yard where the yappy little dog lives, but
he must be inside. Jeremy’s still following me.

I should tell him to get lost. So what if I hurt his feelings? But I don’t
want to. He thinks hearing color is cool, even if his mom is a counselor and
thinks I’m in denial. And I wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d be okay with
Cris. So I don’t say anything and he climbs over the old board fence with
me and we cut through the weedy lot and head down Fir Street, which turns
into the rutted gravel road that leads way back into the woods to the dump
we rented. I’m not going home, though. I need to talk to Cris first, because
as soon as I tell Dad about Mr. Teleomara, we’re gonna be in the car and
heading for another state.

And that hits me, all of a sudden. That we’ll leave. I mean we always
do, but I’ll really miss Cris, because before Cris I didn’t really have a clue.
And my throat starts hurting because we’ve only been here a few months
and I like Jeremy and I don’t usually make friends. And now I have two and
I have to leave. A mower’s buzzing out hot red-orange and spring birdsong
sparkles blue and pink and gold in the trees, and it would be a really pretty
day if Mr. Stinking Teleomara hadn’t walked in.

It’s all dark and quiet now, all thick Sitka spruce and salal thickets, and
it’s almost dark as twilight. The old bullfrog is thumping in the scummy
pond.