Then Again, Maybe I Won't

Ever since his dad got rich from an invention and his family moved to a wealthy neighborhood on Long Island, Tony Miglione's life has been turned upside down. For starters, there's his new friend, Joel, who shoplifts. Then there's Joel's sixteen-year-old sister, Lisa, who gets undressed every night without pulling down her shades. And there's Grandma, who won't come down from her bedroom. On top of all that, Tony has a whole bunch of new questions about growing up. . . . Why couldn't things have stayed the same?

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Then Again,
Maybe I Won't

Who says March is supposed to come in like a lion and go out like a lamb? That's a lot of bull. All it's done this March is rain. I'm sick of it.

"Hey Tony . . ." Mrs. Gorsky yelled from her upstairs window.

I pretended not to hear her. I took a Jersey Journal out of my sack and tossed it onto her front porch. Pow-Pow-Pow I got you Mrs. Gorsky! Now you can't scream if I don't put your paper under your doormat.

This time she banged on the top of her window while she yelled. "Tony Miglione! I know you can hear me!"

Sure I can. So can the whole neighborhood.

"Don't you forget to put my paper under my doormat!"

I didn't say anything.

"TONY . . ."

Then I turned around and looked up at the window. "Who, me?"

"Yes . . . you!"

"But it's pouring, Mrs. Gorsky," I called.

"So? You won't melt."

Maybe I will. Then you'll be in big trouble because my family will come looking for me and you'll have to tell them how I melted down to nothing right on your front porch.

I walked away from Mrs. Gorsky's house. She was still banging on her window. Well, let her. I didn't feel like climbing her porch steps. What's the worst thing she can do to me? Call my boss . . . that's what. So? He'll understand. There's no rule that says I've got to put the paper under her doormat. As long as it doesn't land in the bushes I'm allowed to throw it from the sidewalk. If this rain ever stops, I'll go back to doing it her way. Then she'll be satisfied.

I don't know what I'll do about my paper route next year, when I go to junior high. I don't want to give it up. But Jefferson Junior has an after-school basketball league and I want to play in it. Basketball is my favorite sport. I just wish I was taller. My brother Ralph says I'll probably sprout up at fourteen like he did. I hope I don't have to wait that long. It's important to be tall when you're playing basketball. You're that much closer to the basket. I play at the Y all day Saturday and every Sunday afternoon. Always with the same bunch of guys--Frankie Bollino, Joe Schenk, Joe Rosella and Billy Turner. We call the two Joes, Big Joe and Little Joe. Rosella's the big one.

Maybe my boss will let me deliver later in the afternoon next year. I hope so. I could get around a lot faster if I had a bike I could depend on. But all I've got is Ralph's old one, which doesn't work most of the time. I've been thinking about buying a new bike--a ten-speed Schwinn--bright red. But my father says it's more important to put my money in the bank for college. He's saving for my education already and I don't even know what I want to be. Suppose I don't want to go to college? My father will be disappointed. He wants me to be a teacher, like Ralph. And we have a State Teachers College right here in Jersey City. That's where Ralph went and where Angie goes now. She's Ralph's wife. They live upstairs. Between the two of them you'd think they invented education.

I wonder how I'll feel going to the school where my brother teaches. Probably I won't get Ralph anyway. At least I hope I don't. It'll be bad enough when the other kids find out my brother's The Wizard of Seventh Grade Social Studies. Suppose they get ideas and ask me to fix it with Ralph for them to get good marks? What will I do then?

Wait a minute. Maybe I can say I'm no relation to Ralph Miglione, the teacher. We just happen to have the same last name. After all, Jersey City is a big place. Not everybody knows my family. Yeah . . . that's what I'll say. And I'll warn Big Joe, Little Joe, Frankie and Billy in advance. They're my best friends. They can keep a secret.

If only the rain would stop.

I can hear my mother saying when I get home, "Why didn't you wear your rubbers? Why are they just sitting in the closet?"

Excerpted from Then Again, Maybe I Won't by Judy Blume
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