Building Blocks Read Online Free

later. He waited to see what the frightened little kid would do next.
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œBrann, with two n’s.”
    â€œAre you a burglar?”
    Brann decided to take the offensive in this conversation. “Are you scared of burglars?”
    â€œNo.” The boy shook his head. “My father would take care of them good. Besides, we haven’t got anything to steal. Unless they’re tramps and just hungry—but then they’d stick to the kitchen, if they got in.”He was a skinny kid, and little in his bed.
    â€œHow old are you?” Brann asked.
    â€œTen. Almost ten-and-a-half. How old are you?”
    â€œTwelve.”
    â€œYou’re going into the seventh grade. I bet you can do long division.”
    â€œEasy,” Brann said. “That’s kid stuff. At my school we have to learn everything, like all the Presidents—”
    â€œI know who the President is, it’s Roosevelt. Franklin Delano Roosevelt again. My father voted for him, both times. My mother didn’t the first time but she did last fall. Who did your father vote for?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Brann lied. He was busy remembering Social Studies classes: if it was Roosevelt and his second term, it had to be the Depression. This was about the weirdest dream he’d ever had. If there was a weird dream contest, this one was a sure winner. He did know who his father had voted for: McGovern. His father had backed the loser.
    â€œDo you know how many states there are?” the boy asked.
    â€œFifty.”
    â€œNope, forty-eight. What’s the capital of this state?”
    â€œAlbany,” Brann said.
    â€œNope, Harrisburg.”
    Harrisburg? But Harrisburg was the capital of Pennsylvania. Now Brann knew a little more, like another block put into place. The boy sat on his bed looking smug. “What’s the capital of California?” Brann asked.
    â€œSan Francisco?”
    â€œNaw, Sacramento. Connecticut?”
    â€œNew Haven.”
    â€œNo, Hartford.” The kid didn’t look smug any more. “Anyway, what’s your name?”
    â€œKevin. What did you say yours was?”
    â€œBrann with two n’s.”
    â€œThat’s a funny name.”
    â€œIt’s Irish,” Brann explained.
    â€œMy father’s part Irish,” the boy said. “Do you want to come over and sit on the bed? You still haven’t said what you’re doing here. You can’t stay anyway, if he catches you. Don’t knock over any more blocks. What are you doing here?”
    â€œWaiting to wake up,” Brann answered. He picked his way carefully among fallen blocks. The bed creaked when he sat on it.
    Kevin studied him, like a mouse looking at a snake. Brann wondered what the dream was going to be about. “Are you a runaway? I’ve read about runaway kids, but the papers say they go in gangs. That was a joke, wasn’t it? About waking up? Want me to pinch you?”
    Brann nodded, and the boy pinched him gently on the arm. “Harder,” Brann said. But it was no use. He was dreaming he was awake in Pennsylvania somewhere, during the Great Depression. He didn’t feel like he was dreaming, he felt like he was awake. But that was impossible. “Never mind,” Brann said. He was asleep. He had to be. Impossible things didn’t happen. “What time is it?”
    â€œLate,” the boy said. “You can’t stay here.”
    â€œI know,” Brann said. “You don’t have to tell me that. I don’t want to anyway.” He heard two long whistles, like boat signals. But Pennsylvania didn’t border on the ocean.
    â€œI don’t know what my father would say—he’d probably whip you or turn you over to the police, or both. He’d whip me too. He has a belt. It hurts; nothing hurts as much. So you’ve got to go.”
    â€œIs the ocean near here?” Brann asked.