Death of a Kleptomaniac by Kristen Tracy Read Free Book Online Page A

Ruthann and drill team. I need to figure out ways to beef it up. Maybe I should volunteer somewhere and meet a bunch of new people. Do I have time to volunteer somewhere? Would I enjoy spending a few hours a week in a hospital?
    Tate picks up the Pibb Zero bottles and acts like he’s going to juggle them for me, but he doesn’t.
    â€œYou’re still picking me up at ten tomorrow morning, right?” I ask.
    â€œAre you going to be up for horseback riding?” he asks.
    â€œAbsolutely,” I say.
    â€œOkay,” Tate says. “And there’s one other thing I forgot to mention.”
    I hate it when people forget to mention things.
    â€œMy brother and his girlfriend want to come. Is that cool?”
    I’ve seen Tate’s older brother, Wyatt, and his girlfriend, Denise, on multiple occasions at a juice bar near school. They’re the closest thing Idaho has to hippies, and I bet I’ll like them both fine. I don’t care if they come.
    â€œSure,” I say.
    â€œHey,” Tate says, lightly tapping the side of my cot with his leg, “I’ll call you later.” He carries the soda bottles into the hallway and disappears. He looks even more tan than last night. How is that possible? Does he spray-tan?
    I close my eyes. I need to figure out a phenomenal way to ask Tate to the dance. Balloons? No. Not phenomenal. Way too many people use balloons. A funny card? No. Something bigger. A stuffed animal? No. Those aren’t sexy. What’s a sexy and phenomenal way to ask a guy to a dance? My thoughts are violently interrupted by the sensation of somebody plopping down next to me on the cot.
    â€œI saw him come in here,” Ruthann says. “What did you tell him?”
    I blink at her. “I told him where he could find the Pibb.”
    â€œAnd then? What about my job?” she asks.
    â€œIt didn’t come up,” I say.
    â€œYou can’t be that sick,” Ruthann says.
    â€œActually, I think I am,” I say.
    The sound of somebody knocking makes Ruthann stop talking and turn around.
    â€œWe need to let our patient rest,” Mrs. Pegner says.
    â€œYes. I really need rest,” I say.
    Ruthann reluctantly gets up. “I’m going to call you later.”
    â€œI hope I’m feeling well enough to talk,” I say.
    Ruthann frowns at that. As I rest my head back down, there’s a soft knock at the door.
    â€œYou are a very popular sick person,” Mrs. Pegner says.
    â€œIt’s probably somebody looking for more Pibb,” I explain.
    â€œMolly?”
    The voice is so distinct that my skin erupts in goose pimples.
    â€œHenry?” I prop myself up on my elbows. “What are you doing here?”
    He walks into the office and stands next to me. My heart begins to race. That whole pep talk I gave myself yesterday at the mall that I was completely over Henry and didn’t care about him and that my heart had entered a time machine and was now unaffected by our make-out session—all that was a lie. I am so attracted to Henry right now. Even though he’s wearing geeky clothes and looks, well, a little geeky.
    â€œI was headed to the attendance office and I saw you through the door,” he says. “Are you okay?”
    I ignore his question and ask my own. “Why were you headed to the attendance office?” Because that’s where people go to get permission slips for absences. Is he planning on being absent?
    He shifts his weight. He looks uncomfortable. “I had to get slips. For Monday.”
    He said the word slips . That’s the plural form of slip . Why would he need more than one slip? Is he going away on a long trip? With somebody? My mind leaps to Melka.
    â€œAre you and Melka going somewhere?” I ask. It hurts to even form that question, because I want the answer to be no. And if the answer isn’t no, I’m going to feel a little crushed.
    He pauses. His eyes look at