Sammy Keyes and the Search for Snake Eyes by Wendelin Van Draanen

Author:Wendelin Van Draanen [Draanen, Wendelin Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-54529-9
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2002-04-19T04:00:00+00:00

It was late. And I knew Grams would be worried, but still, I thought I should make triple sure the Gangster Girls hadn't followed me back to the Senior Highrise. So I wound up crouching behind a bush near the fire escape, waiting and watching until I was positive the coast was clear.

When I finally made it to the apartment, I closed the door without a sound and whispered, “Hi, Grams!” as I unloaded my backpack.

Grams was all preoccupied with some book she was reading at the kitchen table. She smiled at me, then glanced at the clock. “Practice run late?”

I couldn't believe it. Normally she'd be wringing her hands, fretting about where I'd been, and here it was way past dinner and there she was, back with her nose in a book.

And what was I supposed to say to her question? Uh, gee, no. Actually, I'm late because there was this group of South West gangsters hunting me down and I had to ditch them?

I don't think so.

So I just said, “Uh-huh,” and peeked under her book at the cover. “What'cha reading?”

“It's absolutely fascinating.”

“Online Marketing? Grams, we don't even have a computer!”

She nods. Like I'm somewhere in the distance of her consciousness. “Hudson does.”

“Hudson?”

She snaps to. “Don't jump ahead of yourself, young lady. I'm just reading.”

“Does, uh, Hudson know you're reading?”

“Not yet.” “But what are you planning to market?” I ask her, then mutter, “Online. With a computer you don't own.”

She snaps the book closed, shoves away from the table, and says, “I thought we'd heat up leftovers tonight.”

“Don't change the subject! I really want to know.”

She just scowls at me.

“Okay, I'm sorry. It just seems so out of the blue and, you know, not you.”

“Oh, really? Well, I don't make fun of your ideas, and I happen to think this one's a pretty good one.” She starts passing cold food to me from the refrigerator.

“Grams, really. I'm sorry. What's the idea? What are you planning to market?”

She hesitates, then says, “Handkerchiefs. Monogrammed handkerchiefs.”

I didn't want to put my foot in my mouth again, but I had the hardest time not saying, Handkerchiefs? Who's gonna want those?

I guess it was written all over my face, though, because she says, “Brides. Babies. Sweet-sixteens. Victorian tearooms—which are becoming very popular again, in case you didn't know.”

“Tearooms? Why would they want handkerchiefs?”

She tisked at me and closed the refrigerator. “Or cloth napkins, Samantha. You have to think broadly if we're going to go into business.”

“We? You mean, you, me, and … Hudson?”

“Well, I don't know about Hudson. We'll see.”

“But Grams —” “We'll see!”

One thing about my grams. When she's excited, you can always tell because she moves fast. And right now she was flying around the kitchen, whipping those leftovers in and out of the microwave, shoving me plates and utensils to put on the table. And I thought, Okay. If she's excited about it, well fine. Who was I to break it to her that there was a reason Kleenexes were popular.

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