Define "Normal" by Julie Anne Peters Read Free Book Online Page B

said. “Should I call 911?”
    She grinned. Dropping the CD player in one jacket pocket, she removed something else from the other and held it out to me.
    “What’s this?” I took it.
    “A cell phone. Duh.”
    A cell phone? I’d never even held a cell phone. It was so light, so small. So warm from her body heat.
    In answer to my unspoken question, Jazz said, “My mother calls me about six times a day to check up on me. She says we need to stay connected.” Her lip curled.
    I handed back the phone.

    “Keep it,” Jazz said.
    “Oh, right. And what do I say if your mother calls?”
    “Tell her I’m not in. Better yet, tell her I’m busy shooting up.”
    I snickered and slid the phone across the table to her.
    Reluctantly she pocketed it.
    I said, “Let’s begin by—”
    “What’s the one thing in your life you most regret, Tone?” she asked, cutting me off.
    That was a weird question. For some reason I had an instant answer. “That I never learned to swim.” Where had that come from? I hadn’t thought about swimming since the summer before sixth grade when I was all hyped to spend two weeks at swim camp with Tamra. I couldn’t go, of course. Mom was sick again and needed me to take care of Chuckie. Tamra. That was it. She’d been on my mind lately.
    Jazz stared at me.
    I shrugged. “I always thought I should know how to swim in case one of my brothers fell into a lake or something.”
    Jazz made a face. “What lake? We’re like fifty miles from the nearest reservoir.”
    I felt stupid.
    Jazz said, “Why don’t you come over to my house tomorrow and I’ll teach you how to swim?”
    I scoffed. “Where? We’re like fifty miles from the nearest reservoir.”
    “I have a pool.”
    My eyes sprang out of their sockets, I’m sure. “In your backyard, you mean?”
    “No, in the kitchen.”
    Was she kidding? I held up two fingers, questioning.
    She widened her eyes at me. “It’s an indoor pool. Olympic-size. Plus,” she hurried on, “I’m a certified Red Cross lifeguard. That’s what I do in the summer, play lifeguard at my parents’ country club. You tell anyone and you’re dead meat.” She threatened me with a fist.
    “I won’t.” I wasn’t sure I believed it anyway. My mind reeled. More than anything, I wanted to believe. I wanted to learn how to swim. I wanted to go to Jazz’s house and see if she had an indoor Olympic-size swimming pool. “I can’t. I have to watch my brothers. I have … responsibilities.”
    “Be irresponsible for once. Or bring your brothers along.”
    “Could I?”
    “What? Be irresponsible or bring your brothers along?”
    There was a sharp rap on the door and we both jumped. The door opened. “What are you doing in here?” an angry voice demanded. A familiar voice.
    Jazz’s eyes went cold. “We’re doing a drug deal,” she said. “What’d you think?”
    I whipped my head around. “Mrs. Bartoli. Hi.”
    “Oh, hello, Antonia.” She looked from me to Jazz and back again. “Are you using this room? I have a meeting scheduled for after school and I need to set up the VCR.”
    “The room’s reserved,” Jazz said. “Come back later.”
    “Jazz.” I widened my eyes at her. “It’s okay, Mrs. Bartoli. We’re done.”
    I stood to leave. Jazz huffed, but followed me out. She and Mrs. Bartoli exchanged a look. Sheer revulsion. It was so palpable, you could almost taste the venom. “You’re such a suck-up,” Jazz said as she caught up to me at the end of the hall. Before I could protest, she handed me a piece of notebook paper.
    “What’s this?” It was a row of numbers scrawled in lipstick.
    Jazz recapped the lipstick tube. “My number,” she said. “Call me tonight and I’ll give you directions to the Luther family estate.”
    I slipped into Mom’s room after school and shut the door. “How are you feeling, Mom?” I asked softly, perching on the edge of the bed.
    “Not so good,” she said. She rolled over and curled into a