Read Harry Sue for Free Online Page A

want to lay it down.
    And if you value your life, don't ever,
ever
ask about what happened to her father.
    As a fish, you should know that every piece of information you give to another con or conette can be used to hang you. Be straight, but don't offer up any more rope than you have to.
    So if you got questions, just hold your tongue in your hand. Squeeze it if you have to. Anyone headed for the joint needs to learn to be patient. Time is the one thing a con has too much of. You'll find that cons will waste time, kill time, just spill it on the ground.
    I still had time on the outs, so this was a concept that got me tangled. But Homer knew all about con time, and that's where I always headed when I was sprung from Granny's place. Right to the tree house of Homer Price.
    Course, I'd have to get past Homer's mom, and that was no easy prospect. But Homer and me were road dogs from way back, so I made the effort. Homer's real name, as I have mentioned, was Christopher Dinkins, but I gave him his nick after the crack inventor in the book. Homer's nick came from his habit of dreaming up inventions, and, before the accident, building them, too.
    But that was all before he got slammed with, not a deuce, not an eight ball, not a dime, but an all day…. Yes, it's true, Fish. Homer Price maxed out with a life sentence for the crime of diving off the Grand Haven pier.
    I didn't bother with the front door, just wentaround back. Through the kitchen window, I could see Mrs. Dinkins standing with a coffee cup in her hand. She was staring in the direction of the tree house. I'd seen Beau's old beater at the curb, so I knew Homer wasn't alone.
    Even though he was a home health aide for Ottawa County, Homer said Beau was part of the crew.
    “I don't think you can get much closer to a person than when he gives you a sponge bath” was how he settled it.
    Whatever. I liked Beau. He taught us how to get along on the inside as well as on the outs. We felt comfortable with Beau—Homer and me—so I thought maybe I could get away with just a wave to Mrs. Dinkins, haul myself up the rope, and spend some time with Beau and Homer, learning how to handle life on the inside.
    I made a big circle with my arm as I ran past the window. I guess I knew it wouldn't work, and I was dead on with that guess. The screen door slammed before I could grab the first knot of rope.
    You see, after the accident two years ago everybody pretty much figured old Homer was a goner. His lungs kept filling up with fluid and there were other parts that stopped working, too, right along with his arms and legs. When the Shooting Star people came around to grant him a wish, he didn't ask for an expensive trip or anything. What hewanted was a tree house, way up in the most ancient oak in Marshfield, which just so happened to be in Homer's backyard.
    He wanted a tree house with a lift and a big picture window cut in the roof so he could concentrate on where he was going and not so much on where he'd been. Homer wanted to spend his last days in the sky.
    For real? He mostly wanted to get away from Mrs. Dinkins, who had started to look like one of those statues with parts of her worn away from too much touching. Mrs. Dinkins was always worrying some piece of her own self, rubbing and rubbing like she was trying to erase the body that made the boy who caused so much grief on account of his foolishness.
    Getting away from his mother was a full-time occupation, especially after Homer refused to go to the school for the handicapped over in West Olive. After that Mrs. Dinkins was both his mother and his homeschool teacher. The very thought of Homer laid out flat with Ariel Dinkins at his side trying to puzzle through cell biology made Trench Vista Elementary seem almost bearable.
    Now she hurried after me, pinching her side like she'd been running and got a cramp.
    “Harry Sue,” she said, all breathless. “Stop in after, won't you? And visit a minute?”
    What she really meant