"Katherine J. Patterson - Bridge to Terabithia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Patterson Katherine J)

 BRIDGE TO TERABITHIA
By Katherine Paterson

DEDICATION:

I wrote this book
for my son
David Lord Paterson
but after he read it
he asked me to put Lisa's name
on this page as well,
and so I do.
For
David Paterson and Lisa Hill
Banzai.

ONE - Jesse Oliver Aarons, Jr.

Ba-room, ba-room, ba-room, baripity, baripity, baripity, baripity. Good. His dad had the
pickup going. He could get up now. Jess slid out of bed and into his overalls. He didn't worry
about a shirt because once he began running he would be hot as popping grease even if the
morning air was chill, or shoes because the bottoms of his feet were by now as tough as his
worn-out sneakers.

"Where you going, Jess?" May Belle lifted herself up sleepily from the double bed where
she and Joyce Ann slept.

"Sh." He warned. The walls were thin. Momma would he mad as flies in a fruit jar if they
woke her up this time of day

He patted May Belle's hair and yanked the twisted sheet up to her small chin. "Just over
the cow field," he whispered. May Belle smiled and snuggled down under the sheet.

"Gonna run?"

"Maybe."

Of course he was going to run. He had gotten up early every day all summer to run. He
figured if he worked at it - and Lord, had he worked-he could be the fastest runner in the fifth
grade when school opened up. He had to be the fastest-not one of the fastest or next to the
fastest, but the fastest. The very best.

He tiptoed out of the house. The place was so ratty that it screeched whenever you put
your foot down, but Jess had found that if you tiptoed, it gave only a low moan, and he could
usually get outdoors without waking Momma or Ellie or Brenda or Joyce Ann. May Belle was
another matter. She was going on seven, and she worshiped him, which was OK sometimes.
When you were the only boy smashed between four sisters, and the older two had despised
you ever since you stopped letting them dress you up and wheel you around in their rusty old
doll carriage, and the littlest one cried if you looked at her cross-eyed, it was nice to have
somebody who worshiped you. Even if it got unhandy sometimes.