Don't Make Me Smile by Barbara Park Read Free Book Online

what she doesn’t need is for you to keep acting up. She told me that you ran away last night.”
    Good old Mom. The woman can never keep anything to herself. I bet when she was little she was an exact copy of MaryAnn Brady.
    â€œI’m not going to run away anymore, Dad,” I said. “I swear.”
    â€œI certainly hope not,” said my father. “I’m not going to have you making things worse for your mom. If you’re not happy there, you are always welcome to come live here with me.”
    Dad looked at his watch.
    â€œOkay, now that we’re straight on things, how about some lunch?” he asked. “Are you hungry yet?”
    I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway.
    He walked over to his little kitchen. “I’m actually getting to be a pretty good cook,” he said.
    He reached into the cabinet above him and pulled out a box.
    It was macaroni and cheese.

(nine)
    W HEN MY father brought me home that afternoon, I said hello to my mother and went straight to my room. I wasn’t sure why I was in such a hurry to get there. But as soon as I closed my door, I started to cry.
    It was really weird, too. I didn’t even know I was going to do it. And the worst part was, I couldn’t stop.
    My father was still in the house. He heard me and came in to see what was wrong. I asked him to leave me alone.
    When he left my room, I heard him tell my mother that it might be good for me “to get itout of my system.” They didn’t bother me after that.
    This was the first time that I had cried in almost a week. In fact, until then I hadn’t even felt like crying, hardly. I guess I had been more mad than sad. But after seeing my father’s apartment, it all started sinking in.
    Every time I thought about it, I cried even harder. I know this makes me sound like a total wuss. But I don’t really care. I think when you’re sensitive, you have more crying in you than other kids.
    All I know for sure is that when my mother called me for dinner that night, I couldn’t eat a thing. I just sat there looking down at my food and sniffling. It was too bad, too. She had made fried chicken.
    I tried to make her feel good by eating a few bites, but it was no use. I couldn’t swallow. I just sat there with chicken in my cheeks. Finally, Mom told me I could come back later if I was feeling better.
    I went back to my room and cried a little more.
    That night I must have even cried in my sleep. Because the next morning my pillowcase felt soggy.
    It was Sunday, and there wasn’t much to do. I got up for a while and wandered around the house. But I kept ending up back in my room, thinking about my mom and dad.
    By late that afternoon, my mother was getting worried about me. The only time I had come out of my room was to get more Kleenex. She made me some homemade soup and brought it to my room. It was real nice of her and all. But I couldn’t eat it.
    I went to bed early. I thought maybe if I got a good night’s sleep, I would feel better in the morning. But when the morning came, I still felt lousy. My mother must have sensed it, because she let me stay home from school again.
    About nine o’clock, my father dropped by to see how I was doing. At least, I
thought
that’s why he came by. Actually, he had another reason. And it turned out to be a very sneaky one.
    â€œCould you get your clothes on, Charlie?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “No, Dad. Please. I can’t go to school today. I don’t feel good,” I said.
    Anyone could see that I wasn’t faking.
    â€œI know you don’t, Charlie,” said my father. “But there’s somewhere else I’d like to take youthis morning. Just get ready, all right? It’ll be good for you.”
    As I was getting dressed, I convinced myself that he was taking me out to breakfast. For some reason, even if I don’t have an appetite, the thought of blueberry pancakes usually