The Girl on the Outside Read Online Free Page A

car with a huge bundle wrapped in a white sheet.
    â€œEvenin’, Mis’ Stuart. Your washin’ all done, right here.”
    â€œThank you, Letha,” her grandmother said, as she put some change into the woman’s hand.
    Sophia stayed close to her grandmother as they rode home. Her grandmother was unusually quiet. Sophia, still worried and afraid that she had upset her, finally said, “I just wanted to play.”
    Without looking at her, Grandma Stuart patted Sophia on the knee and said, “They are not our kind.”
    That was the beginning of many trips with her grandmother into South End. Sophia always rode up front. Sometimes they went in the mornings or early afternoons. The streets were quiet and dusty. Old women, shading themselves with parasols, walked on the narrow shoulder of the road. They seemed to disappear in the dust when Grandma Stuart sped by in her big car.
    If it was morning, fires blazed under black iron pots, steam rose from boiling clothes as women punched at them vigorously. Lines and lines of sheets, towels, shirts, and pillowcases dried in the white morning sun.
    Afternoons, Grandma Stuart would pull up fast, making the dust fly all the way to Letha’s porch where a small round kiln glowing with charcoal was stacked with flatirons. Sometimes Sophia saw Letha over an ironing board as they drove up.
    Always Letha’s dark face was wet with sweat and sometimes she came to the car with soapy water on her clothes from the washing board. Pale, pinkish hands, crinkled as if pickled by water, opened for the quarters Grandma Stuart placed in them, two for each bundle.
    A whiff of fragrance through her window now reminded her of the clean sweet smell of laundry dried in the sun. She remembered the excitement each week of opening the bundles of sheets and pillowcases; and Grandpa’s shirts by the dozens, starched and ironed like new. Sophia sighed and stirred on the floor. Twilight was now lavender here, too, and big green and yellow moths fluttered at her window. The air was still hot and muggy, but it was quieter. People were settling for the night.
    The ring of the alarm clock startled her. Then she remembered. Arnold was coming at seven! She must hurry. The cool shower pelting her and the thought that Arnold cared made her glow. She smiled as she recalled the day he left for school for the first time. They had wandered to the end of the train station’s platform away from the crowd to say good-bye. He held her hands and kissed her cheek. Her heart felt tight in her chest and she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Then he was gone.
    After laying out her green voile dress, she rushed to do her hair up in a ponytail and tied it with a pale green ribbon. In the warm dampness, her hair curled in small ringlets around her face. After spraying all over with rose water, she felt cooler.
    She slipped into her dress and turned to survey herself in the mirror. The capelike collar barely covered the top of her arms. The slim bodice tapered to a full skirt that flattered her small waist. With naturally rosy lips, she needed little makeup. If only there were some magic to make the freckles disappear.
    The doorbell rang. She dabbed more rose water behind her ears and dashed down the stairs.
    There was something about Arnold that both disturbed and soothed her. His cool self-assurance. The first minutes alone with him could be terrifying. She often felt shy, sure that she knew nothing; she could not find the right words.
    Now, as she let him in, he smiled, and she knew that to say, “Hi,” was sufficient.
    â€œHi,” he said. “You look fresh and cool …”
    â€œâ€¦ and colorful,” she finished the sentence, unable to forget her freckles.
    â€œAnd beautiful,” he said. He held her hands for a moment, as he looked at her and smiled. She blushed and led him through to the back of the house.
    â€œMother,” she called.