Read YA The Boy on Cinnamon Street for Free Online Page B

had a lot of friends then,” she says.
    “Yup,” I say.
    “You don’t want to talk to them anymore.”
    “Nope,” I say.
    “You were so so good at gymnastics.”
    “Yup,” I say again. And then I don’t feel anything except the soft snowflakes landing lightly on my frozen face.

Chapter
Seven
     
    Someone is outside cleaning the sidewalk below our condo right now with a very noisy snow blower. It sounds like our building is being dive-bombed.
    “For goodness’ sakes,” goes my grandma, “why don’t they just use a shovel to clear the sidewalk? That noisy thing is doing nothing but blowing snow around and polluting our ears. Men,” she says, frowning at Grandpa.
    “Well,” says Grandpa, “when I invented that machine, I should have made it quieter. Same thing with the wheel. I should have made it rounder, right, pal?”
    “Ha ha, Grandpa,” I say.
    “Ready to go?” says Grandpa, doing a few dumb Tai Chi moves and then grabbing my nose and pretending to steal it, like I’m a first grader or something. I don’t laugh and I’m not going to act like a little kid, even though I may look like one.
    Then my cell rings and I open it. Whenever Henderson calls, his photo pops up showing him wearing a cardboard spray-painted space suit, his costume for a party last year at Halloween.
    “Hey, Thumb,” he says.
    “Hey, Hen,” I say. “What’s up?”
    “Well,” he goes, “this is breaking news. This is confidential. This is top secret data.”
    “What?” I say.
    “Working at the library here, reading, I’ve discovered that dinosaurs never disappeared at all,” he whispers.
    “They didn’t?” I say.
    “No, they didn’t and you’re not to tell the Dinosaur Research and Development Foundation if they call, okay?”
    “Okay,” I say. “And I was just about to give them a buzz.”
    “Well, don’t bother,” he says. “This is top secret. Listen. You can hear some dinosaurs outside right now singing in the snowy trees.”
    “What?” I go.
    “They’re birds. Birds. They became smaller and smaller over millions of years. Dinosaurs evolved into birds.”
    “Cool,” I say. “But we don’t have any trees or birds over here in South Pottsboro anyway. I haven’t seen a bird in years. Ha ha.”
    “Ho ho,” says Henderson. “By the way, as I was leaving school today, no joke, this kid in my English class out of the blue gives me a gift certificate to Starbucks for two mocha Frappuccinos and two stale cookies. And I don’t even know the kid. That’s the way things have been going in my life since I bought that meteorite on eBay. So we can have a tall Frappuccino tomorrow afternoon, thanks to a beautiful little falling star, and I can read you another new chapter.”
    “Oh, okay,” I say.
    “Oops, gotta go, Thumb. They’re closing the library. Hey, wait! Excuse me. I’m still here,” he calls out. “Wait, come back.” I hear pounding on a door. Then Henderson clicks off and his photo disappears.
    Henderson is always getting shut up in that library. Once he had to stay all night locked up in there. He slept in the rowboat full of pillows in the children’s reading room. But he blogged about it later and got a lot of comments. (Reni says he planned the whole thing.)
    About this dinosaur stuff. Henderson always has all kinds of facts and all kinds of nonfacts. I mean, if you want to know the population of Pokeweed, Pennsylvania, Henderson knows, which is sometimes cool and sometimes like, “Uh, did you just get off the train from Dorkville, USA?”
    Just now my grandma is saying, “Henderson is cute, but immature. Boys are always a little behind girls until later. Right, Grandpa?”
    “I was way cool,” says Grandpa. “I was never immature.”
    “Oh, right,” says Grandma, crossing her arms and smiling. She and Grandpa are planning to go out for sushi tonight, so they’re both all cheerful. Grandpa and Grandma get all excited about any kind of dinner on the horizon. When they