

Beschreibung
“In a bold but rewarding gambit, Neri imagines the childhood friendship of Harper Lee and Truman Capote, sprinkling in bits of To Kill a Mockingbird and foreshadowing such adult events as their collaborative work on In Cold Blood—yet still making ...Autorentext
G. Neri has written many books for children, including Yummy: The Last Days of a Southside Shorty, a Coretta Scott King Author Honor winner, Knockout Games, Hello, My Name Is Johnny Cash, and Ghetto Cowboy. He lives in Florida with his wife and daughter.
Klappentext
Zusammenfassung
Leseprobe
1
A Case of Mistaken Identity
Monroeville, Alabama—Summer, sometime in the Great Depression
When Truman first spotted Nelle, he thought she was a boy. She was watching him like a cat, perched on a crooked stone wall that separated their rambling wood homes. Barefoot and dressed in overalls with a boyish haircut, Nelle looked to be about his age, but it was hard for Truman to tell—he was trying to avoid her stare by pretending to read his book.
“Hey, you,” she finally said.
Truman gazed up from the pages. He was sitting quietly on a wicker chair on the side porch of his cousins’ house, dressed in a little white sailor suit.
“Are you . . . talking to me?” he said in a high wispy voice.
“Come here,” she commanded.
Truman pulled on his cowlick and glanced across the porch to the kitchen window. Inside, Sook, his ancient second cousin (thrice removed), was prepping her secret dropsy medicine for curing rheumatism. Sook normally kept a close eye on Truman, but at that moment, she was humming a song in her head, lost in thought.
Truman stepped off the porch because he was curious about who this little boy was. He’d made no friends since arriving at his cousins’ house two weeks ago. It was early summer and he yearned to play with the boys he saw making their way to the swimming hole. So he straightened his little white suit and wandered slowly past the trellises of wisteria vines and japonica flowers until he came upon the stone wall.
Truman was taken aback. He scrunched up his face; he’d been confused by Nelle’s short hair and overalls. “You’re a . . . girl?”
Nelle stared back at him even harder. Truman’s high voice, white-blond hair, and sailor outfit had thrown her for a loop too. “You’re a boy?” she asked, incredulous.
“Well, of course, silly.”
“Hmph.” Nelle jumped off the wall and landed in front of him—she stood a head taller. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Seven.”
“You smell funny,” she said, matter of fact.
He sniffed his wrist while keeping his eyes glued on her. “That’s from a scented soap my mother brought me from New Orleans. How old are you?”
“Six.” She stared at the top of his head then put her hand on it, mashing…
