I looked back at the map. My brain was feeling fuzzy a little bit, like when I tried to figure out Wei’s tip for Chinese food. “I don’t think I’ll tell them,” I said.
Calista didn’t say anything about that, just stared out the window at the black of the subway tunnel passing by as we rode. I folded up the zoo map and put it in my pocket.
the surprise
in the fridge.
Albie, what’s this?” Mom asked when she opened up the fridge to start dinner after Calista had gone home.
“I don’t know,” I said, without even looking. Because how would I know what was in the fridge?
“It’s for you,” Mom told me. And that made me look up.
For me?
I rushed to the fridge, and sure enough, there was a big brown box on one of the shelves. All the lettuce and cheese had been pushed over to the side so it would fit. On the side in bubble letters it said, Happy Birthday, Albie!
Calista’s handwriting.
“My present!” I told Mom. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. I’d never forgotten about a birthday present before in my whole life. “Calista said she brought me something.”
“Well, let’s see what it is.” And Mom pulled out the box and set it on the table. I helped her tug back the lid.
It was a giant cake, shaped like a huge, perfect donut. Vanilla, it looked like, rounded on the sides like a real giant donut with a hole in the middle and everything. There was thick chocolate glaze dripping down the sides and sprinkles all over the top.
“Cool!” I said.
“Now, isn’t that sweet?” Mom said. I laughed, and she looked at me. “What?”
“It’s a donut cake,” I told her. “So it has to be sweet!”
Mom laughed, too, and hip-bumped me. “Looks like the perfect after-birthday dessert,” she said.
• • •
The donut cake was so delicious that for a second I forgot it was still a sad day.
rain in
new york.
When it rains in New York, no one knows where to walk. The streets fill with rainwater at the corners of every block, and even though it doesn’t look too deep, if you step off the sidewalk in the wrong spot, it’ll swallow up your whole sneaker. So when it rains in New York, nobody crosses at the crosswalks. People walk right across the middle of Fifth Avenue in traffic, and the cars honk and the people shout and the rain slurs up all the noise.
When it rains in New York, people rush rush rush with their necks hunched low in their jackets and men stand at every street corner shouting, “Umbrella! Umbrella, five dollars!” The price always starts at five when it’s just sprinkling, then goes up to fifteen when it’s really pouring. Which, if you ask me, is just too bad, because that’s really when you need an umbrella most.
When it rains in New York, rich people’s dogs wear miniature raincoats and plastic slippers that pinch their paws, and kids giggle and shriek and splash in the puddles.
When it rains in New York, the playgrounds are empty and the buses are full. People cram together under the awning outside the bagel shop and talk too loudly on their phones.
When it rains in New York, the garbage cans at every corner are stuffed with the twisted bits of broken umbrellas. When it rains in New York, everyone is happy that the building at 59th and Lex is under construction, when just the day before they said the scaffolding made their eyes sore.
And when it rains in New York, people who aren’t paying attention, like Darren Ackleman, because they are too busy doing something else, like making fun of someone walking with his not-a-babysitter home from school, get sprayed right in the face by dirty rainwater splashed by a passing bus. Soaked, head to toe.