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it. I liked this King-Roy Johnson, and for some reason I couldn't explain, even to myself, I felt most desperate for him to stay.

FIVE
    I watched my mother coming down the hall and wondered what King-Roy thought of her. Had his mother told him how beautiful she is? Did his mother even know? Our mothers had been best friends up until the third grade, but then they had to stop being friends in public because people in town didn't like it. Mother said King-Roy's mother could have gotten hurt if they were seen playing together, so they had stopped and only saw each other on occasion and in secret, and eventually, they drifted apart.
    Most people say Mother looks like Jackie Kennedy, only prettier. She's tall and slender, with a small waist and perfect posture, and she's a brunette and she has almond-shaped brown eyes and her rounded chin sticks out just the slightest bit at the end. My little sister is going to grow up to look just like her, as far as I can tell.
    I waited until my mother got close enough to us that I didn't have to raise my voice before I said, "Mother, this is Mr. King-Roy Johnson." My mother didn't like me to raise my voice. She always said my voice was so loud it could shatter glass.
    Mother's smile broadened and she extended her hand toward King-Roy. "I'm so pleased to meet you," she said. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived. You're early today, I believe, and yesterday, when you were supposed to come, you got lost?"
    Mother tilted her head, still smiling, and yet I saw in her eyes a flash of annoyance. I hoped that King-Roy didn't see it. The look came and went so fast, and I figured since King-Roy didn't know Mother yet, he wouldn't catch it; but I saw by the way he drew back from her, even taking a step back with one foot, that he had.
    "Yes, ma'am, I got lost in New York City yesterday, and today I'm early," he said, without stammering or looking away. "I didn't know how long it would take me to get here. I'm sorry if I arrived at an inconvenient time."
    "Not at all," Mother said, even though her eyes said, "Of course you did."
    Mother turned to me. "Esther, I went shopping on my way home. Would you go downstairs and unload the groceries, please?"
    "But I was showing King-Roy the house. I wanted to show him his rooms. I wanted to be the one to show him."
    Mother closed her eyes a moment, then opened them again. "The ice cream is melting, Esther. I'll show Mr. Johnson his rooms."
    I didn't want to leave. I wanted to show King-Roy the house. I was so proud of our house—my house. Someday, I would own this house. That was my dream. I knew that my parents didn't hold out much hope for my success in life, but my dream, my fantasy, was to someday walk up to my parents and surprise them with buckets of money and say, "I'd like to buy this house from you—in cash."
    I saw Stewart and Sophia coming down the hallway, still in their audition outfits of matching stretch pants and tops, looking both so adorable. Sophia was a miniature of my mother and had her hair pulled up in a perfect little bun, and Stewart, with his mop-top head of golden curls, looked like a little prince. I saw my mother's eyes light up. She lifted her head and said, "Ah, here they come." She held out her hand, and Stewart and Sophia trotted up to Mother. "Mr. Johnson, these are my other two children. Sophia, Stewart, say hello to Mr. King-Roy Johnson."
    Sophia, being the little charmer, curtsied and said, "
Roy
is French for 'King,' so your name is really King-King, did you know that?"
    Before King-Roy could answer, Stewart said, "Of course he knows that; everybody knows that, even Esther." He held out his hand and said, "It's very nice to meet you," all in his sweet high-pitched little voice.
    King-Roy leaned forward and took each hand and shook it saying, "It's nice to meet y'all. Miz Sophia, you're mighty pretty, and, Mr. Stewart, you look right tall for a boy of ten."
    King-Roy had said just the right thing. Sophia and