Al Capone Does My Shirts

But right where the chain link meets the cement wall, I see a gap.

[...]

I look down at Natalie. She hasn’t moved a muscle. I won’t be able to see her once I get up there. But I know better than to try to move her once she’s all set up.

I’ll just make it quick, that’s all. A couple of seconds to look. One minute, that will be enough. A ball could be sitting right there out in the open, just waiting for me. I know this is a lousy idea. But it doesn’t matter. A gap in the fence is a magnet. It just is.

My mom has taken off her green hat and her green coat and she has begun to make supper. Every minute or so she comes back to the table to read a part of the article again. It’s as if the newsprint is warm and my mother’s hands are very cold.

Natalie is on the living room floor, reading my math book like it’s the newspaper.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” I say.

“Okay, honey.” She smiles. “I can’t wait to tell your dad about this! [...] Your sister is going to be okay! She’s going to be fine!”

“But, Mom,” I say, “it says no kids are accepted after the age of twelve!”

My mother freezes. She’s so still, it looks like she’s stopped breathing. “Natalie is ten, Moose. You know that.”

“You can’t be ten for five years in a row,” I whisper.

“Stop it! Stop it!” I have my hands on Nat’s arms. I want to shake her, shake her hard. My arms tremble with the effort not to.

Natalie screams louder. I look into those trapped eyes. Wherever she is, she can’t get out, which only makes her scream louder. And suddenly I’m not angry anymore.

Natalie is holding hands with a man convicted of some awful crime. It’s so strange, so awful, and so...normal. Natalie doesn’t look weird. She’s my older sister. A sixteen-year-old girl holding hands with a man not much older than she is.

This is terrible.

This is good.

“People know, Mom. They know.”

“They don’t know!” she cries, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know! She won’t have a chance at sixteen. No one will take her. No one cares about an adult that isn’t right. It’s only kids who have a chance. It’s too late if she’s sixteen. Don’t you see?”

“Yeah, but Mom, you can’t pretend! It’s worse. People know—”

“No one knows. They don’t know and they don’t care. Put her in an institution. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Lock her up with all the nuts. She has to be TEN. It’s the only chance she has!”