The Friendship by Mildred D. Taylor

“Now don’t y’all go touchin’ nothin’,” Stacey warned as we stepped onto the porch of the Wallace store. Christopher-John, Little Man, and I readily agreed to that. After all, we weren’t even supposed to be up here. “And Cassie,” he added, “don’t you say nothin’.”
    “Now, boy, what I’m gonna say?” I cried, indignant that he should single me out.
    “Just mind my words, hear? Now come on.” Stacey started for the door, then stepped back as Jeremy Simms,a blond sad-eyed boy, came out. Looking out from under the big straw hat he was wearing, he glanced somewhat shyly at us, then gave a nod. We took a moment and nodded back. At first I thought Jeremy was going to say something. He looked as if he wanted to, but then he walked on past and went slowly down the steps. We all watched him. He got as far as the corner of the porch and looked back. The boys and I turned and went into the store.
    Once inside we stood in the entrance a moment, somewhat hesitant now about being here. At the back counter, two of the storekeepers, Thurston and Dewberry Wallace, were stocking shelves. They glanced over, then paid us no further attention. I didn’t much like them. Mama and Papa didn’t much like them either. They didn’t much like any of the Wallaces and that included Dewberry and Thurston’s brother, Kaleb, and their father, John. They said the Wallaces didn’t treat our folks right and it was best to stay clear of them. Because of that they didn’t come up to this store to shop and we weren’t supposed to be coming up here either.
    We all knew that. But today as we had walked the red road toward home, Aunt Callie Jackson, who wasn’t really our aunt but whom everybody called that because she was so old, had hollered to us from her front porch and said she had the headache bad. She said her nephew Joe was gone off somewhere and she had nobody to send to the store for head medicine. We couldn’t say no to her, not to Aunt Callie. So despite Mama’s and Papa’s warnings about this Wallace place, we had taken it upon ourselves to come anyway. Stacey had said they would understand and after a moment’s thought had added that if they didn’t he would take the blame and that had settled it. After all, he was twelve with three years on me, so I made no objection about the thing. Christopher-John and Little Man, younger still, nodded agreement and that was that.
    “Now mind what I said,” Stacey warned us again, then headed for the back counter and the Wallaces. Christopher-John, Little Man, and I remained by the front door looking the store over; it was our first time in the place. The store was small, not nearly as large as it had looked from theoutside peeping in. Farm supplies and household and food goods were sparsely displayed on the shelves and counters and the floor space too, while on the walls were plastered posters of a man called Roosevelt. In the center of the store was a potbellied stove, and near it a table and some chairs. But nobody was sitting there. In fact, there were no other customers in the store.
    Our eyes roamed over it all with little interest; then we spotted the three large jars of candy on one of the counters. One was filled with lemon drops, another with licorice, and a third with candy canes. Christopher-John, who was seven, round, and had himself a mighty sweet tooth, glanced around at Little Man and me, grinning. Then he walked over to the candy jars for a closer look. There he stood staring at them with a hungry longing even though he knew good and well there would be no candy for him this day. There never was for any of us except at Christmastime. Little Man started to follow him, but then something else caught his eye. Something gleaming and shining. Belt buckles and lockets, cuff links, and tie clips in a glass case.As soon as Little Man saw them, he forgot about the jars of candy and strutted right over. Little Man loved shiny new things.
    Not interested in drooling