Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

E. R. Frank is an author, psychotherapist, and social worker. A native of Richmond, Virginia, Frank attended Vassar College, Hunter Graduate School of Social Work, and New York's Institute for Contemporary Psychotherapy. She is the author of five novels: Life Is Funny, Dime, America, Wrecked, and Friction. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and two children.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Life Is Funny

Puffin Books

Chapter One

China

At first Ebony and I don't want to, but then her mom, Ms.Giles, says she'll pay us, and we say okay because Ebony'stwin sisters' day care isn't that far, plus it's across the streetfrom McDonald's.

    We wait in the playground tire swings, sipping Cokes anddipping nuggets in hot sauce, and I'm wishing I'd asked forsweet and sour, when we see him. I'm guessing he's youngerthan us, but he's way bigger, and he's real dark, and he doesn'tlook around or anything. His eyes are set straight ahead, andhe walks right by and up to the front-door stoop and juststands there, waiting.

    "We're fine, thank you. And what's up to you, too?"Ebony goes, loud, so he'll hear. Only he acts like he's deaf orsomething.

    Ebony sucks her teeth for a minute, and then she tells me,"He'd be fine if he was dressed half decent." It's hard to knowif she truly cares about stuff like that or if she's just trying toget me aggravated, for fun.

    So I tell her, "You'd be fine if you weren't a bitch."

    "Shut up."

    "You know it's true." Ebony fakes a sulk, and I check himout again.

    "He wouldn't be fine anyway," I go. "He's scary.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Look."

    She sticks her foot way out and leans way over to pretend-tieher shoe.

    "You're right," she says. "He's mad scary."

    A bell rings, and the doors open. A bunch of little kidsshoot through, and me and Ebony hop up out of the swings.A couple of day care ladies laze out behind the kids, and thatboy crosses his arms and leans his back to the brick.

    Ebony's twin sisters, Mattie and Elaine, bounce outside,holding some kind of Popsicle stick craziness.

    "What's that?" Ebony asks them.

    "A dollhouse," Mattie says.

    "It's not done," Elaine says. "We have to make the roof."

    "Hi, China," Mattie says.

    "Hi, baby," I go.

    "Hi, China," Elaine says.

    "Hey, baby," I tell her.

    They're six but like it when I call them baby. Ebony's notallowed. They get mad at her when she does it. They let mebecause I don't have any little sisters, and I talk to them whenEbony just thinks they're around to get on her last nerve.They would let our other best friend, Grace, because she'swhite and she's prettier than anything, only Grace wouldnever say baby anyway.

    "China, look," Ebony goes, poking me.

    One of the day care ladies is staring, pole up her butt, atthat boy. "Can I help you?" she asks, nasty.

    The boy stares back at her. He doesn't say a mad word.

    "Do you need something?" the lady goes, like he better not.

    He keeps his face shut tight, and the lady opens up hermouth again, but then this real small kid?way younger thanthe twins?zooms out with this Popsicle stick thing and goesto the scary boy, "Mama sick?"

    The scary boy gives the lady a big old cold eye and thenscoops up the real small kid and flips him over his shoulderand takes off. The kid giggles like crazy.

    "Eric!" he squawks. "Eric! Let me go!"

    "Bye, Mickey," Mattie yells at the small kid's upside-downgiggly head.

    "Bye, Mickey," Elaine yells.

    "Bye, y'all!" he calls back.

    But that boy Eric, he doesn't smile or slow down or anything.

*

On the first Friday the twins get to color mad bunches of yellowballoons with Magic Markers, and they let me and Ebonycarry the balloons home. When Ebony's mom gets back fromshowing apartments, she taps at the bunches, making themnod and shiver all over their living room, and she goes, "`InJust-spring when the world is mud-luscious the little lameballoonman whistles far and wee and eddieandbill come runningfrom marbles and piracies and it's spring when the worldis puddle-wonderful.'"

    "It's not spring," Ebony cuts in. "It's summer."

    Ms. Giles leaves the balloons and the poem and digs intoher pocketbook. I wanted to hear the end, but Ebony hates itwhen her mother says poetry. She's always making her momstop in the middle like that.

    "Thank you, gifts," Ms. Giles goes, and she hands useach a fresh green bill, stiff as a new bookmark. Ebony holdshers by the edges, pushes them forward, and then pulls themback to make a loud snap. I fold a box out of mine, then undoit flat again and snap it, like Ebony.

    "What's the rest of that poem?" I ask Ms. Giles.

    "Ugh," Ebony moans.

    "Ugh right back," I go.

    "Be patient with her, China," her mother tells me."Ebony's poetry hasn't bubbled up to the top yet."

    That makes me picture the fish tank at school.

    "Mom!" Ebony moans again.

    Her mother touches my chin with her fingertips. "China,"she goes, "your poetry is closer to the surface, just under yourskin."

    Ebony drags me to her room and then calls Grace so thetwo of them can tease me stupid.

    "Under her skin!" Grace goes, all sarcastic. Ebony's gother on speaker phone.

    "Y'all just wait," I tell them both.

At Grace's I work on mini-collages from old magazines, to fitinto flat plastic key chains, while Grace and Ebony rip thehems out of the bottoms of their jeans. You have to do bothprojects just right, or you mess things all up.

    "Make sure you don't get glue on the floor," Grace remindsme for the millionth time. I don't get an attitude.though, because of her mother. We're not even supposed to beat Grace's because her mom's sort of mean and doesn't likepeople who aren't white. I met Ms. Sanborn once on the sidewalk,and she was kind of nasty to me and Ebony both, but itwas hard to tell if it was because we're black or what, becauseshe was mean to Grace, too, and Grace is white, plus she's hermother's own daughter.

    "Y'all want to sleep over this Friday?" Ebony asks, rightwhen I get done cutting out the words hip and sex.

    "Yeah," I go, spotting ultra and fine and Wow all on onepage. "Can you come, Grace?"

    "Depends what mood her mom's in," Ebony says quick,so Grace won't have to.

    Grace rolls her eyes, which she is real good at, especiallyfor a white girl.

    "Word," she goes, just to make us laugh.

That boy, Eric, stares right past us again and waits with hisback to the day care wall. This time Ebony keeps her mouthshut about him, and I try to catch his eye, but he won't seeme. The day care lady doesn't say anything. She looks at himlike he stinks or something, and he acts like she's a speck ofbug doo under his shoe.

    Another girl shows up waiting today, too. She's youngerthan us, like that Eric boy, only she looks it more than he doesbecause she's real small and...