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Pop Goes the Weasel

Pop Goes the Weasel

Titel: Pop Goes the Weasel Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: James Patterson
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gotten out of my dreams and into the real world.
    Nana, Damon, and Jannie were just leaving the house when I pulled up into the driveway. What’s this? I wondered.
    Wherever they were going, everybody was dolled up and looking especially nice. Nana and Jannie wore their best dresses, and Damon had on a blue suit, white shirt, and tie. Damon almost never wears what he calls his “monkey” or “funeral” suit.
    “Where’s everybody going?” I said as I climbed out of the old Porsche. “What’s going on? You all aren’t moving out on me?”
    “It’s nothing,” Damon said, strangely evasive, eyes darting all over the front yard.
    “Damon’s in the Washington Boys Choir at school!” Jannie proudly blurted out. “He didn’t want you to know until he made it for sure. Well, he made it. Damon’s a chorister now.”
    Her brother swatted her on the arm. Not hard, but enough to show he wasn’t pleased with Jannie for telling his secret.
    “Hey!” Jannie said, and put up her dukes like the little semipro boxer that she is becoming under my watchful eye.
    “Hey, hey!” I said, and moved in like a big-time referee, like that guy Mills Lane who does the big pro fights. “No prizefighting outside the ring. You know the rules of the fight game. Now what’s this about a choir?”
    “Damon tried out for the Boys Choir, and he was selected,” Nana said, and beamed gloriously as she looked over at Damon. “He did it all by himself.”
    “You sing, too?” I said, and beamed at him as well. “My, my, my.”
    “He could be in Boyz Two Men, Daddy. Boyz Two Boyz, maybe. He’s smoo-ooth and silky. His voice is pure.”
    “Is that so, Sister Soul?” I said to my baby girl.
    “Zatso,” Jannie continued to prattle as she patted Damon on the back. I could tell she was incredibly proud of him. She was his biggest fan, even if he didn’t realize it yet. Someday he would.
    Damon couldn’t hold back a big smile, then he shrugged it off. “No big thing. I sing all right.”
    “ Thousands of other boys tried out,” Jannie said. “It is a big thing, biggest in your small life, brother.”
    “Hundreds,” Damon corrected her. “Only hundreds of kids tried out. I guess I just got lucky.”
    “ Hundreds of thousands! ” Jannie gushed, and scooted away before he swatted her like the little gnat she can be sometimes. “And you were born lucky.”
    “Can I come to the practice?” I asked. “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. I won’t embarrass anybody too much.”
    “If you can spare the time.” Nana threw a neat jab. She sure doesn’t need any boxing lessons from me. “Your busy work schedule and all. If you can spare the time, come along with us.”
    “Sure, Dad,” said Damon, finally.
    So I came along.

Chapter 32
    I HAPPILY WALKED THE SIX SHORT BLOCKS to the Sojourner Truth School with Nana and the kids. I wasn’t dressed up. They were in their finery, but it didn’t matter. There was suddenly a bounce in my step. I took Nana’s arm, and she smiled as I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm.
    “Now that’s better. Seems like old times,” I exclaimed.
    “You’re such a shameless charmer sometimes,” Nana said, and laughed out loud. “Ever since you were a little boy like Damon. You certainly can be one when you want to.”
    “You helped make me what I am, old woman,” I confided to her.
    “Proud of it, too. And I’m so proud of Damon.”
    We arrived at the Sojourner Truth School and went directly to the small auditorium in back. I wondered if Christine might be there, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Then I wondered if she already knew that Damon had made the Boys Choir, if he had told her first. I kind of liked the thought that he might have told her. I wanted them to be close. I knew that Damon and Jannie needed a mother, not just a father and a great-grandmother.
    “We’re not too good yet,” Damon informed me before he left to join the other boys. His face clearly showed the fear and anxiety of possibly being embarrassed. “This is just our second practice. Mr. Dayne says we’re horrid as a tubful of castor oil. He’s tough as nails, Dad. He makes you stand for an hour straight without moving.”
    “Mr. Dayne’s tougher than you, Daddy, tougher than Mrs. Johnson,” Jannie said, and grinned wickedly. “Tough as nails. ”
    I had heard that Nathaniel Dayne was a demanding maestro — nicknamed the “Great Dayne” — and that his choirs were among the finest in the

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