Becoming Me by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online Page A

big highlevel executive, running a multimillion dollar fashion corporation. Who knows, it could happen. Everything in my dad’s office is either black or gray or chrome—very uptown and classy. Image is everything, they say in the advertising world, and I suppose in some ways I’ve fallen victim to that same sort of thinking. But after waiting for about twenty minutes, my stomach begins to rumble (I still have difficulty eating in front of Jenny and her friends at school) and suddenly I’m wondering if Dad still keeps a supply of Snickers bars hidden somewhere in his desk, and I eagerly begin to search through his orderly desk drawers. And that’s when I find it.
    At first when I see the long narrow velvet box (obviously from a fairly nice jewelry store), I think it must be something for Mom, probably an “I’m sorry” sort of Valentine’s Day gift (which is tomorrow by the way). But then I see a white envelope just beneath it—and the name on the envelope doesn’t say “Karen” (my mom’s name) but the name “Belinda” is written neatly on it (in Dad’s precise handwriting)! What in the world is this about, I’m wondering, afraid to even consider the ramifications of something like this. So, I figure as long as I’ve gone this far, I decide I might as well open the box—and inside I see this delicate gold bracelet with what I suspect to be some real diamonds (even if they are somewhat small). I snap the box closed, my heart pounding in my throat. I can’t believe it! Does my dad have a girlfriend? Then I glance quickly over to the still open door,certain that I’ll be caught snooping.
    But no one is watching, so I pick up the smooth white envelope to discover that the back isn’t properly sealed (stupid move, Dad). And even though I know it’s wrong to look, I also need to know the truth. Of course, it’s this totally sappy, lovesick Valentine poem, obviously a feeble attempt for Dad to proclaim his “love and devotion” to this Belinda person— not my mother ! With totally shaking hands, I stuff the stupid card back into the envelope and shove both these detestable objects back into his lower desk drawer. I don’t even do it very carefully. Why should I care if he thinks someone saw it—I mean, he’s the one who’s got a problem here!!!
    Now, all I can think of is that I’ve got to get out of here—and fast! I do not want to see my dad! And when Mrs. Greenly asks why I’m leaving so soon, I can’t even answer, and so she just nods and says, “Well then, goodbye, dear, have a nice day,” just as if my entire world wasn’t crashing down all around me!
    And so I ride the elevator back down, certain that I’m going to puke all over the gray carpeting, but somehow I make it back outside where a cold wind is starting to blow and cuts right through my thin jacket like a steel blade that’s slicing right into my heart. And suddenly I feel the tears nearly freezing right on my cheeks. But I keep walking away from the office building, until I finally reach the bus stop a couple blocks down the street. And then I sit down on the cold metal bench and cry.
    I’ve never ridden the bus from downtown like that,but somehow I managed to do it all just right, and after I got off I only had to walk about eight more blocks to get home. (It’s actually a pretty decent transit system we have in this town.) Then I go straight to my room and cry some more. And that’s where I’ve been all night. I never even went down for dinner. I told Mom I was having really bad cramps (the best I could come up with). I can’t stand to look into her eyes right now. I mean, how can I possibly keep a secret like this away from her? Yet how can I possibly tell her? I am so utterly miserable.
    I can’t believe it. Here, I was ready to take all the blame for my parents’ problems. I thought their little spat was totally my fault. Now I wish that it were. Oh, if only it were.

SIX
Wednesday, February 14 (happy