Chapter 1 1
Winnie shoved a second piece of gum into her mouth. She crushed the wrapper in her fist and flicked it over her shoulder. A long low sigh escaped from somewhere inside her. She rested her elbows on the window sill and cupped her face in her hands. Kneeling in one position in front of one window for hours and hours wasn’t easy. Especially on a hot and sticky August morning. But she hadn’t moved. Not an inch! Except when her left foot fell asleep and she had to jump up and down to get rid of the prickly feeling.

Now her knees were sore. Winnie reached over to her rumpled bed—the same old bed she’d been sleeping in for the last eight of her eleven years—grabbed the pillow and stuffed it under her legs. She chewed her gum as hard and fast as she could. It cracked better that way. Winnie was being disgusting—that’s what her mother said about gum cracking. And this morning being disgusting helped her to feel less miserable. Earlier, she had slammed the bedroom door shut and hung out her BEWARE—PRIVATE sign.

The light rain had stopped and a breeze brushed against Winnie’s cheek. It felt cool and refreshing. But even that didn’t help ease the empty feeling. And staring down the block at Iggie’s house didn’t help either. Even though she could see only parts of it—the driveway, the gray stone chimney, a speck of the red front door. Just enough to remind Winnie that her best friend in the whole world was gone and wouldn’t be back. There was nothing she could do about it. This was, without a doubt, the loneliest, saddest, most horrible week of her whole life!

Winnie heard a gentle tapping at her bedroom door. “What Mom?” she called, turning away from the window.

The door opened and her mother stood there, one hand on her hip. “Winifred Bates Barringer!”

Winnie cringed. Mom’s voice got very loud. “Just look at this room. It’s a mess.”

Winnie agreed privately, but said nothing. She studied her mother, standing like a statue in the doorway. Mom was wearing her work clothes—an old blue denim skirt and a faded striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her face was smudged with dirt.

Mrs. Barringer did not smile, but she softened her voice. “Winnie,” she said, holding a tissue to her nose and sneezing. (Mom always sneezed a lot after she’d been gardening or cleaning the basement.) Mrs. Barringer blew her nose and continued. “You’ve been cooped up in this room all morning and I haven’t said a word. Now, I know how you feel about Iggie moving away, but I certainly didn’t expect you to mope around for a whole week. This is ridiculous! You haven’t had a thing to eat today. At this rate you’re going to fade away into nothing.”

Winnie turned back to the window. “I’m not hungry and I’ll clean up my room later. Okay?”

Her mother did not answer. Winnie sensed that she was standing there waiting for a better explanation. “I’m busy Mom. I’m watching for the new people. The moving trucks were here early this morning, but I haven’t seen the new people anywhere.”

“It’s a wonder you can see ANYTHING with all that hair in your eyes,” her mother answered. “You look like an overgrown sheep dog, Winnie. Why don’t you try putting on some clothes and brushing your hair. It’s after twelve already.”

Winnie tossed her hair out of her face and looked down at her pink night shirt. She cracked her gum louder.

“Winifred! That is DISGUSTING.”

Winnie smiled. “It’s sugarless gum Mom. No cavities!”

“I was talking about the noise, not the gum.” Mrs. Barringer reached into the pocket of her skirt. “Here’s a letter from your brother. As soon as I clean up I’m going down to fix lunch. I expect you to join me in ten minutes. And please Winnie, do SOMETHING about that hair.”

Mrs. Barringer made a military turn and left the room. Winnie opened her brother’s letter. But it was practically impossible to read Matthew’s squiggly writing so she slipped the letter back into its envelope.

Matthew would be home from camp in a week and then summer would really be over. It felt funny to have a brother going into ninth grade. That was kind of old! Most kids Winnie knew couldn’t stand their brothers and sisters, but she didn’t mind Matthew. Not since last year when he started to talk to her as if she were a real person, instead of just a child. Which was more than she could say for her parents most of the time.

But Iggie’s family, now that was a different story. At Iggie’s house she hadn’t been treated as a child. And she’d spent plenty of time there, too. She had slept over practically every Saturday night for two years. It was another world. Iggie’s mother always put candles on the dinner table. She said Saturday was the most special night of the week. And she and Iggie were allowed to sample the wine. Winnie had pretended to like it but it tasted kind of bitter. After dinner they would move into the living room where Iggie’s father lit a fire. She and Iggie would sit on the furry rug in front of the fireplace, then they would talk for hours and hours. Sometimes Iggie’s mother would read to them. Other times there were guests for dinner.

Iggie’s folks knew people from all over the world because they traveled so much. Iggie’s father was always flying off to different countries on business. Winnie would listen to everything they had to say. Sometimes Iggie’s father used to ask, “What do you think about that, Winnie?” Imagine! He actually wanted to hear her opinion. She found out not everybody thought the way the Barringer’s did. There were plenty of other ideas floating around. And her folks didn’t mind her spending so many nights away from home. Of course not! It left them free to go to the movies.

Winnie felt that she belonged at Iggie’s house.

She wandered away from the window and over to her dresser where she took out her freshly washed jeans. They were beginning to unravel at the edges where she had cut them off, but they still fit fine. She wondered if she was ever going to grow. She wanted to be tall like her father and curvy like her mother (although she wouldn’t admit that to anyone). But so far, she wasn’t much of either.

She pulled on her blue sweatshirt, regarded her hair in the mirror and stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She decided it was easier to hide all that thick hair inside her sailor hat than to brush it out. With a final check out the window she left her room and skipped down the stairs. She didn’t realize she was barefooted until she reached the kitchen. The tile floor felt like ice cubes on the bottoms of her feet. She whirled around and ran back up the stairs, nearly knocking over her mother’s prize plant at the top. She searched frantically for her new plaid sneakers. “Yick! They must be in the junk pile under the bed,” she said to herself, giving up. She grabbed her loafers from the bookcase shelf instead, knocking over the giant copy of the world atlas in her hurry.

Winnie paused for a moment, but did not pick up the atlas. Was it only a week ago that she and Iggie had carefully measured the distance from New Jersey to Tokyo?

Racing down the stairs for the second time, Winnie smelled eggs. Her stomach rolled over noisily, but she had the feeling if she ate she’d get sick. “Just an apple for me Mom,” she said.

“An apple is no lunch, Winnie. Or breakfast either,” Mrs. Barringer said. “I’m making us some egg salad.”

“I know Mom. It smells awful!” Her mother gave her a look but Winnie ignored it and hopped over to the refrigerator on the foot that already had a loafer on it. She selected an apple with no visible bruises and sat down before sliding the other foot into its shoe. “I’m going out Mom. I want to see what’s going on. Maybe I’ll go down to Iggie’s house.”

Mrs. Barringer turned away from the egg salad. “Winnie, the new people may be awfully busy today. I really don’t think this is the time to meet them. Wait until tomorrow and I’ll bake some brownies. Then you’ll have an excuse to ring the bell and say hello.”

“I only want to have a look, Mom. They won’t even know I’m there.” She was on her feet now, ready to move. “Bye,” she called and dashed out the kitchen door before her mother could stop her.

Winnie stuffed her mouth with the apple. She felt like one of those fancy pigs in a delicatessen window, but she needed both hands to raise the heavy garage door to get her bike. She walked the red bike down the driveway, finished the apple and threw the core through the sewer grating. Then she rode eight houses down the block and stopped.

Iggie’s house sat high on the curve of Grove Street. That was why Winnie was able to see it from her bedroom window. It was an old house—forty or fifty years old, Iggie had said. Winnie hadn’t been near it all week. She was almost afraid to look up at it now. Her favorite house in the whole world. At least it had been for the three years that Iggie lived there. Winnie knew every little corner—from the attic down to the basement. And now strangers were coming to live in it. But it would still be Iggie’s house. No matter what! It would always be Iggie’s house.

Leaving her bike near the foot of Iggie’s driveway, Winnie walked slowly toward the big, gray stone, two story house. The same potted geraniums that Iggie’s mom cared for so lovingly were still on the front stoop. The bright red front door was closed. Winnie turned away from the house, holding back the tears in her eyes. An unfamiliar green station wagon rounded the corner of Grove Street and headed her way. Winnie ducked behind the evergreen bushes surrounding Iggie’s house, just in case. She didn’t think about the morning rain until it was too late. Her shoes sank into the wet ground and made a soft squishing sound. Her mom would have a few words to say about that!

She crouched and her heart started to beat faster and louder. Iggie hadn’t told her anything about the people who bought her house. She said it would be a big surprise. Winnie didn’t know what that meant.

The green station wagon rolled into Iggie’s driveway. Winnie peeked out from between the bushes. The car stopped. The back door opened. Two boys and a girl jumped out and ran toward the house. Winnie’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe her eyes. In her excitement she leaned so far forward that she lost her balance and fell over into the mud. She covered her mouth with a muddy hand and kept her eyes on the new people. The mud was soaking through her jeans. She tried not to think about it. The three kids were followed by two grownups. Winnie guessed they were the parents. They were talking and laughing as they hurried toward the house.

As soon as the new people unlocked the red front door and stepped into Iggie’s house, Winnie took off like a rocket. She didn’t stop until she was almost home. Then she remembered her bike. She practically flew back to Iggie’s, jumped on her bike and pedaled furiously down the block. She collapsed on the back stoop and yelled, “Mom… HEY MOM!”

Her mother rushed to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “My goodness Winnie, what happened to you? Are you all right?”

“Fine Mom, fine.”

“But you’re all covered with mud! Don’t you dare come into the house like that.”

Winnie shook her head impatiently. “Mom, never mind about the mud. I saw them, Mom. I saw the new people. And guess what Mom? They’re Negro! All of them. The kids and the parents. The whole family’s Negro!”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Mrs. Barringer answered quietly, without smiling.

“Already?” Winnie asked, disappointed. “Who told you?”

“Mrs. Landon phoned just before you came home.”

Winnie muttered, “She would know already. She always knows everything. Usually before it even happens.”

“I don’t like to hear you talking that way about a grownup, Winnie. Especially Mrs. Landon.”

“Okay, okay.” Winnie scratched her right leg. “Never mind Mrs. Landon. I should have known Iggie’s family wouldn’t sell their house to just anybody. I should have known it would be someone special.”

Mom’s face looked strange. She started to say something, then changed her mind. She brushed her hair away from her face and shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t see anything to be so excited about, Winnie. Not anything at all.” Mrs. Barringer stalked back to the kitchen and to the roast she was preparing for dinner.

Winnie sat there, still shaking her head and scratching her leg. Then she stood up and took a good look at her house. This was the only place she had ever lived. Right here… the same old house since the day she was born. She wished she could go somewhere or do something exciting. While Iggie’s folks were discussing the world, her mom and dad were talking about who shopped in her father’s hardware store and who did what on Grove Street. Yick!

Well, she was excited now, even if her mother wasn’t. Maybe these new people were from Africa or someplace like that. Maybe they were world travelers too. Maybe they were like Iggie’s family.

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