Over and Out by Jenni L. Walsh

Author:Jenni L. Walsh [L. Walsh, Jenni]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2022-01-21T00:00:00+00:00

Once I’m out of view of the House of Ministries, I shake like a dog that’s trying to get the rain off. It gets a few odd looks from people passing by. But they’d be doing the same thing if they had Herr Becker as a friend.

But not for much longer, I remind myself.

When I left my building earlier, the paternoster was nearly fixed. I quicken my pace, afraid the maintenance man, and more importantly his spool of cable, will be gone by the time I get back to my building.

But it’s there!

Problem is, so is the maintenance man. I take my time opening our mailbox that’s lined up with all the others in the lobby. Empty. The man’s back is turned, watching as each paternoster compartment circles up, then down. The spool of cable is sitting there for the taking.

I do exactly that.

I’ve never stolen before. I’ve only ever found lost treasures. The weight of having this spool, about the size of an overfed cat, feels heavier and heavier each speedy step up the stairs. But I keep going; I have to. There’s too much riding on this cable.

So much will be riding on this cable—literally.

I barrel into my apartment only to stop short. Mama is home from work. She’s sitting on the floor with her legs crisscrossed, surrounded by what looks like an endless amount of plants.

Suddenly, I feel the rattling of the nearby underground train. Two of the pots clink together and Mama steadies them.

This is strange, even for her. We keep a petunia pot, along with a cornflower plant and bluestar flower by the living room window. But judging by what’s in the large box and what Mama has already taken out, there are way more potted plants than window space.

“What is all this?” I ask. “How did you get all these up here?”

With the lift broken, Mama herself had to take the stairs. That is no small feat for her and probably why she’s unpacking the box from a seated position instead of standing.

“Hello to you, too,” Mama says, but not unkindly. She nods to the spool of cable I’m carrying. “Off treasure-hunting again?”

“Um,” I begin, buying myself time to think. I feel weird standing, and I join Mama on the floor. The large box of plants is between us. “It’s from downstairs.”

“That much I know. I nearly wheeled into it when I came in. Herr Stein was nice enough to send up my plants and wheelchair on the paternoster. Glad it’s finally almost fixed.”

Now I feel even worse for stealing from the nice man, especially since Mama is figuring he gave me his extra cable.

She misjudges my flustered expression, saying, “I know, I may have overdone it with the plants.” She laughs. “I was on my way home and got to thinking about how … Actually, Sophie, would you mind putting some water in a pot for dinner?”

Not really for dinner, I know, but to conceal our words from being overheard.

I jump to my feet and run to the kitchen, bang a pot into the sink, and flip on the faucet.

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