Kiki and Jacques Read Online Free

ever coming back. But at the end of first period, Jacques saw Mohamed in the hallway, and at lunch, a group of Somali kids were sitting at the same tables as yesterday. Actually, it looked like there were even more of them this time—five or six girls, all dressed in long skirts and hijabs, and several more boys. No sign of Kiki, though.
    When school let out, Jacques went to the neighbors’ apartment to pick up their twin boys, Ricky and Robby. The family lived on the first floor beneath GrandmèreJeannette’s apartment, and the twins were always coming upstairs to play with Pelé. The boys were in first grade, and starting this fall, Jacques was going to get paid to watch them sometimes while their mother worked the afternoon shift at the bakery. Jacques figured he could save up enough money to buy the Arsenal jersey that he wanted so badly.
    Robby chased Ricky to the park while Jacques kicked a soccer ball across the pavement. Tryouts were coming up fast. Jacques took aim at the old wooden bench at the entrance to the park.
Slam
, the ball swiftly knocked an empty soda can off the seat.
    â€œGood shot! Do it again!” a voice squeaked. When Jacques turned, he saw a small black child standing behind him. The little boy was cheering with his hands clasped above his head. In the distance, there was Kiki, pushing a baby stroller. The baby was dressed in a blue knitted sweater and was waving a plastic truck.
    â€œHey,” Jacques stammered, “do you live around here?”
    â€œOh hi.” Kiki looked surprised, then kind of pleased. “We are staying in a place over there.” She pointed at a dilapidated apartment building with a rickety wooden porch.
    The boy hopped to the swing set where Ricky and Robby were pushing each other in the air. “You’re it!” He tagged Robby and in a minute, the three children were racing around the playground, giggling.
    â€œIs that your baby?” Jacques asked. “I mean, are these your brothers?”
    â€œOh yeah, the baby is called Amir. And the one who likes to talk so much—Ismail, he is nearly five.”
    â€œYou weren’t at school today.” Jacques coughed into his elbow.
    â€œMy mother, she is looking for work, so I had to watch the little ones. I am there again tomorrow, though.”
    Amir threw the toy truck on the ground. Kiki leaned forward to pick it up, but Jacques reached it first. He handed it back to the squealing baby.
    â€œAnd those two must be your brothers?” Kiki nodded at the twins.
    â€œOh . . . no,” Jacques replied. “I’m babysitting; I get paid to do it. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”
    â€œThat is sad.” Kiki tilted her head to one side. “Why no brother, no sister?”
    Jacques hesitated and then surprised himself by telling the truth: “My mom died in an accident.”
    Kiki nodded her head slowly. “I am sorry. For me, it is like that too—my father died in my country, before we came here.”
    Jacques suddenly realized that he’d never talked to any of his friends about his mother. It had been two and a half years since she’d been killed in a car crash during an April blizzard. A week later, Grandmère Jeannette had come for Easter and brought him a tiny rabbit—Pelé—in a brown wicker basket.
    Kiki pulled Baby Amir from the stroller and began to sing in a low voice as she opened his bottle.
    â€œWhat does it mean?” Jacques asked.
    â€œThe song?” Kiki laughed. “It is just a foolish thing we sing for babies.”
    â€œI like it.” Jacques remembered how Mom would sing to him at night in her clear, sweet voice. Sometimes she and Dad would do a duet of “Frère Jacques,” with Dad booming low and slightly out of tune. At Christmas they’d go caroling with families from church, and when Jacques was really little, Dad would carry him high on his shoulders,