Copyright © 1974 by Louise Fitzhugh
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher.
Please direct inquiries to:
Lizzie Skurnick Books
an imprint of Ig Publishing
Box 2547
New York, NY 10163
www.igpub.com
ISBN: 978-1-939601-50-6 (ebook)
For Lois
Contents
Nobody’s Family is Going to Change
The Principal Characters
DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR
Willie Sheridan
Emma Sheridan
Mrs. Sheridan
Dipsey Bates
Mr. Sheridan
Humming “Me and My Shadow,” Willie Sheridan did a shuffle-ball-change and two flaps as he squeezed out the toothpaste, then did a soft shoe and brushed his teeth simultaneously. His older sister, Emma, started her morning complaints outside the bathroom door. He paid no attention to her, finished his teeth, changed his humming to “Tea for Two” in cut time as he washed his face, then slowed as he combed his hair. Finishing that, he put the comb back, turned, did a hop-shuffle step, saw himself in the mirror, and picked up the rhythm.
“Man, if Bill Robinson was handsomer, he’da looked just like me.” He gave himself a big smile and did two pullbacks and a riff.
Emma’s voice came loud and clear through the door. “Get your habeas corpus out of the bathroom!”
The door opened and Willie did a buck-and-wing past her through the door.
“Faggot,” said Emma right in his ear as he went by.
“I’ll punch you right in the hoo-hoo,” called Willie over his shoulder as, never missing a beat, he disappeared into his room.
Emma’s eyes glowed with hatred as she looked down the hall of the East End apartment after her seven-year-old brother. “Revolting,” she muttered to emptiness. She stomped into the bathroom, slammed the door, and gave the same look of hatred to her own reflection in the mirror. She took in, with no surprise, the four brown punching bags that made up her arms and legs, the well-rounded mound of stomach under her striped pajamas, the Afro hair which, for some reason, did not stand up like everyone else’s but grew sideways, reminding her of a bird she had seen in the Bronx Zoo.
“Monster,” she whispered to herself. “Disgusting. You are truly and completely disgusting.” She turned herself sideways to get a better view of her stomach, then advanced to the mirror until her nose touched. Widening her eyes, she tried to take in her own reality. It didn’t help. The fat brown girl with funny hair had the audacity to smile at her. “But you’re smart. You’re smarter than all of them.” Before the idiot in the mirror had a chance to retort, Emma thumped away to the sink. “You’ll show them all,” she muttered through the toothbrush. Brushing as though she had six cars to wash before noon, she began her day.
Willie missed a step as the bathroom door slammed behind him. He didn’t have to see his sister’s face to know what it looked like behind the door. He and his father called her Piggy. He liked her, but he was frightened to death of her. She was smart. When she looked over her glasses at him, she could turn him to jelly.
Man, I better hurry, he thought, looking at the clock. I’ve only got five minutes to practice before Dipsey gets here. One lesson a week. How can I make it on one lesson a week?
He rooted around in the bottom of his closet until he found his tap shoes, jammed them on, threw back the small rug, closed the closet door so he could see himself, and started to work.
He started off real nice and easy with a slow time step, humming “Way down upon the Swanee River,” real easy, cool, slow. He speeded up then, did three breaks, and was doing his first buck-and-wing when the door opened quietly.
His mother’s face stopped him in his tracks.
“Willie,” she said softly, “your father was up until three working on a brief. He goes to court today. You’ll wake him up”.
“But, Mom, Dipsey’s coming and I got to—”
“You can’t have a lesson this morning. It’s too noisy. I know how much you care . . .”
Willie looked at her in horror.
“. . . but it just makes too much noise.” Mrs. Sheridan stiffened against what she knew was coming.
“Mom! Dipsey can only come this one time and if we can’t do it now I don’t have a lesson this week!”
“I know, son, it’s too bad, but—” The doorbell rang. Willie ran as fast as he could to the front door. Mrs. Sheridan followed him. She closed the door to the bedroom hall behind her as Willie let his uncle in.
“Ta, da, ta, da, da, da!” said Dipsey and did a big break at the door. “Here’s your old dancing master!” He picked up Willie and spun him around in a hug.
“Hush!” said Mrs. Sheridan.
Dipsey said, “Hey, man, how’s the old one-two?” before he heard her. “Hi, Ginny!” Then, more softly, he said, “What’s the matter, Sis?”
“William is sleeping. He worked late and he goes to court at ten. I’m afraid we can’t have any noise this morning.”
Two pairs of big brown eyes gave her the same look. “Oh. Can he miss his first period at school? I could wait, we could have a lesson and then he could go on to school.”
“There’s no one to take him there if he misses the bus.”
“Oh, I could drop him off in a cab. How about it, Sis?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that we had better have a talk.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“Uh, oh, this don’t sound too good, Willie. Come on, let’s go on and get this over with so we can settle down and have ourselves some fun.” He had his arm around Willie and he pulled him over to the couch.
Willie laughed. They both sat down and looked at Mrs. Sheridan.
“Don’t look at me that way, Dipsey, because you know full well what I’m going to say.”
“Uh-huh. Big William don’t like the idea of Little Willie here going on the big bad stage.”
“Dipsey . . .”
“And furthermore, he don’t like it at