Rich (2 page)

Dyamonde and Free
stood in front of a store window.

“I hate being poor,” said Free. “Ever since my dad lost his job, all my mom seems to say is ‘We can’t afford this, we can’t afford that.’”

Dyamonde Daniel would not trade Free for anything. He was
her best friend, wasn’t he? But that boy had a lot to learn.

“First off,” said Dyamonde, “I’ve seen you buy lots of things. And second, you are not poor.”

“Then how come I can’t buy that new video game?”

“My mom says everybody wants something they can’t have,” said Dyamonde. “That don’t—doesn’t make you poor.”

“Well, what do you call it, then?”

“Not having money right now,” said Dyamonde.

“Same thing,” grumbled Free.

“No, it isn’t,” said Dyamonde. “Poor is…” Dyamonde thought for a moment. “Poor is having no clothes, and no food, and no place to live, and nobody who cares.”

“I guess,” said Free. “But I still wish I could get that new video game.”

“Well then,” said Dyamonde, “you’d better get to school so you can graduate, so you can get a job, so you can buy your
own
video game.”

“Forget it, then,” said Free.

Dyamonde play-punched him in the arm.

“You call that a punch? You punch like a girl,” said Free.

Dyamonde pulled her arm back and punched him for real this time.

“Ouch! I was just kidding!”

“Come on, then,” said Dyamonde. “And hurry. Mrs. Cordell said she’d have a surprise for us today.”

“Attention, class!”
said Mrs. Cordell. “I have an announcement.”

Great!
thought Dyamonde.
Here it comes!

“First, how many of you like contests?”

Everybody’s hand went up except for Dyamonde’s. She wanted
to wait and see what this was all about first.

“Well, the local library is sponsoring a poetry contest!” said Mrs. Cordell.

Tameeka groaned. So did Charlie. But then, Charlie groaned about everything.

Mrs. Cordell ignored the groaning.

“The top three poems will be published on the Kids’ Page of the Sunday newspaper.”

“Oooh!” said one kid.

“I could be famous!” said a second kid.

“You wish!” said a third.

“And the winner,” said Mrs. Cordell, “will receive a check for one hundred dollars!”

“Oh, snap!” said Free.

Dyamonde did not even have to look at Free to know that his eyes were bugging out. She could just see him with imaginary dollar signs and little video games floating in front of him.

“Now, who would like an entry form?” asked the teacher.

Free’s hand shot up higher than anyone else’s. Dyamonde didn’t
raise hers. She decided to wait for a math contest. That’s what she was best at. But she was curious to know who
was
trying out for the contest.

Dyamonde looked around the room and saw lots of hands. One of them belonged to a quiet girl named Damaris Dancer.

Damaris was a pretty girl, really tall, with skin like dark chocolate mixed with strawberries. Her reddish brown hair hung in heavy twists that made Dyamonde think of a lion’s mane.

Damaris raised her hand a little higher, just in case Mrs. Cordell hadn’t noticed her.

That’s strange,
thought Dyamonde.
She never raises her hand for anything. I wonder—

“Psst,” said Charlie from the seat next to Dyamonde.

Dyamonde turned to him, annoyed.
Don’t psst me,
thought Dyamonde. She would have said as much out loud if Charlie hadn’t distracted her by pressing a note in her hand.

Dyamonde unfolded the torn loose-leaf page and read:

Oh, puleeze!
thought Dyamonde, shaking her head. Then she wrote something on the bottom of the page and sent it back.

Free laughed and Charlie asked, “What’s it say?”—loud.

“Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?” asked Mrs. Cordell.

“No,” said Free. “Sorry.”

Dyamonde bowed her head to hide her smile.

Dyamonde beat
Free through the lunch line. She’d downed half a carton of milk by the time he joined her at the table.

“Doesn’t look like punch to me,” said Free.

“Hardy-har-har,” said Dyamonde. “Like your poem was so much better.”

“You watch!” said Free. “I’m gonna win that thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Dyamonde. Just then, she noticed Damaris sitting two tables away. She wasn’t eating, though. Instead, she was reading a book.

She does that a lot,
thought Dyamonde.
In fact, I hardly ever see her eat. Is she on a special diet or something?

“Hello?” said Free. “Earth to Dy. Is anybody listening?”

“Huh? Sorry,” said Dyamonde. “Do you know anything about her?”

“About who?” asked Free.

“Damaris Dancer,” said Dyamonde.

“Nope,” said Free. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” said Dyamonde. “You know, she signed up for the contest. She might be good at writing poems. Her name kinda sounds like poetry.”

“So what?” said Free. “Nobody’s gonna win that contest except for me. There, you see? I know my poetry.”

“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “Stop rhyming or—”

“Or you’ll walk on out the
door, and you won’t come back no more?”

“Quit it!”

“
Any
more, I should have said. Rhyming’s messing with my head.”

Enough already,
thought Dyamonde. “Reed Freeman, stop rhyming right now, or after school, I’ll go on a treasure hunt with somebody else.”

“Treasure hunt?” That got Free’s attention. “What treasure hunt?”

Free loved
digging up secrets. Once, he helped his dad dig up an ancient time capsule with records from the olden days that his dad had planted back when he was in high school. Then there was the scavenger hunt Free went on at summer camp. That was fun. He’d
never heard of a girl digging up treasure, but if any girl could, it would be Dyamonde.

After school that day, they met out front and headed across the avenue, walking toward Broadway. On Broadway, Dyamonde turned right.

“Where’re we going?” asked Free.

“Almost there,” said Dyamonde.

Halfway down the block, Dyamonde stopped in front of an old store with a sign that read:

SECOND TIME AROUND

Free froze. He hated secondhand stores.

“I thought we were going to look for treasure,” said Free.

“We are,” said Dyamonde. “In there. Come on.”

Before Free could argue, Dyamonde grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. He held on to the door like his life depended on it and looked up and down the street. He’d die if anybody he knew saw him entering that stinky old place.

Second Time Around wasn’t actually stinky, but Free had made
up his mind that all secondhand stores were. Not that he was an expert. This was only the third time he’d ever been in one. The other two times, his mom had dragged him into one to shop for clothes. Even the memory made Free say yuck!

Once inside, Dyamonde let Free’s hand go.

“What kind of treasure are we supposed to find in here?” asked Free.

“You’re kidding, right?” said Dyamonde. “Look around.”

“I’m sorry,” said Free. “But I don’t like these places.”

“Why?”

“’Cause they’re full of old clothes and stuff people threw away. Why would I want stuff other people threw away when I could buy something new?”

Dyamonde shook her head impatiently.

“First of all, new is okay, but new is boring. It hasn’t been anywhere. And second, how do you know these things were thrown away? Maybe they were
left over after a fire, or maybe a family all of a sudden disappeared, and their perfectly good clothes and furniture and stuff were mysteriously left behind.”

“Huh?”

“When I look at the stuff here, I always wonder where it’s been, what adventures it’s been on. Like those boots. Did somebody wear them to climb a mountain? Or that jacket. Maybe the sleeves of it once blew in the breeze along some famous river, like the Nile. You never know, right?”

Free scratched his head. “I guess,” he said.

“It’s not just old stuff, Free,” said Dyamonde. “Everything has a story. That’s kind of what makes it a treasure.”

Free nodded, trying to see things Dyamonde’s way, trying to understand.

“I’m gonna take a look around,” said Dyamonde. “I’ll meet you back up here in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Free.

At first, Free just followed Dyamonde with his eyes, watching her slowly make her way down an
aisle of old clothes, stopping now and then to feel the fabric or to try on a sweater or a jacket in front of a mirror. Then he began wandering the aisles himself, choosing the one with old books and toys.

The books didn’t look half bad, and even the toys looked okay, though they were mostly for little kids. Balls and dolls and whatnot. But there were table games too, like Monopoly. Only he already had a Monopoly set at home.