A Summer of Sundays by Lindsay Eland Read Free Book Online

Whatever-His-Name-Was. “Just go home,” I said.
    “No. And I will tell.”
    “No you won’t.”
    “Yes I will.”
    “Sunday, who’s out there with you?” I heard my mom’s footsteps on the stairs. “CJ, if you snuck out the back door again, I swear I will ground you for life.”
    The boy and I locked eyes in the dark and I sighed. “Fine.” I turned back to Mom. “There’s a boy here. He says he wants to ask you how old I am.”
    Mom came the rest of the way down the stairs. “What? A boy?”
    Jude I-Have-Six-Names brushed past me and met my mom with an outstretched hand. “I’m Jude Zachariah Caleb Trist the Third. My mom works at the bank. Is she really twelve years old?” he asked, pointing at me.
    “Almost twelve,” I corrected. I didn’t need to look like a fool (though I was sure I already did) arguing in the dark with a boy I didn’t even know with hidden papers stuffed underneath my T-shirt.
    Mom smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. And yes, Sunday is almost twelve.”
    He nodded but didn’t move.
    “There. See? Now you can go home.”
    “Sunday!” Mom scolded. She shot me a look, her eyesflashing as they caught a bit of moonlight.
    “Well—” I whined.
    Mom turned back to Jude-the-Intruder. “If you don’t think your mother will mind, you’re welcome to join us for dessert. We were just about to have some pumpkin bread with butter.”
    Jude didn’t even hesitate. He followed my mom up the stairs and into the house, where I heard Henry crying because he didn’t get the first piece.
    Mom turned around. “Let me just bring in an extra chair. You coming, Sunday?”
    “Yeah.” I followed them into the house, then dashed up the stairs to my bedroom, where I stashed the papers underneath my bed. Then I rejoined everyone in the dining room, ignoring the boy who was just standing there staring with his mouth hanging open like a goldfish. The plate that held the pumpkin bread was nothing but crumbs, well, besides the heels, which were everyone’s least favorite parts. I picked one up, slathered it with butter that melted instantly into the still-warm bread, and ate it.
    CJ, Bo, and Henry had pumpkin bread masks over their faces. They’d poked out holes for their eyes, noses, and mouths.
    Mom lugged a chair through the door and set it next to me at the table. “There you go.”
    CJ looked at me and then at Jude. He let his bread fall off his face into his hands, then took an obscenely big bite. “Who are you?”
    “Jude Zachariah Caleb Trist the Third.”
    I could tell Henry was impressed.
    “How old are you?” CJ asked.
    Jude made himself look taller, even though he was already big—in more ways than one. “Eleven.”
    CJ lifted one eyebrow and looked at him skeptically. “You got hair on your chest?”
    Jude’s cheeks blushed pink, and he glanced around the table at my sisters and parents, but they weren’t paying any attention. “No.”
    CJ seemed satisfied and handed Jude the last slice of bread.
    I watched the intruder lick his lips. “Thanks.”
    “Sit by me, sit by me!” Henry said, patting his chair. “I can squish myself real small. Watch.”
    “That’s really good,” Jude said. He squeezed himself onto the sliver of chair next to Henry.
    I rolled my eyes and listened in on Mom and Dad.
    “I need to take a mop to the floor again now that the books are mostly sorted.” Mom let her pen glide across the notepad already halfway filled.
    Emma was taking turns nibbling the smallest bites imaginable from her slice of pumpkin bread and pressingthe buttons on her phone. Since she’d gotten the phone a few months ago, Dad joked that he should’ve just had it surgically implanted in her ear.
    I glanced back at Jude With-a-Zillion-Names. He looked even bigger sitting next to Henry. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jude Trist-Caleb-Whatever. He’d been pressed and stuffed into that bright white shirt and the buttons looked as if they were struggling to stay in the