Eleven and Holding by Mary Penney Read Free Book Online Page B

the spit gathering at the side of my mouth, like it does when I’m really mad. I swiped at it.
    â€œYou’re kind of sweet when you’re mad,” he said. He reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I respect that.”
    I untucked the hair out from behind my ear and changed the subject. “So you really are going to help Ginger?”
    â€œWho’s Ginger?”
    â€œThe woman who you could have killed yester-day?” I rolled my eyes. “The one you went and apologized to?”
    â€œOh, her, right. Hey! Why don’t we look for her dog together?”
    â€œNo way. Twee and I are going to find him, and we aren’t splitting the reward with anyone.”
    â€œFine by me. I don’t want reward money. I just wanted to help her out. And since I already have a lead on the pooch,” he said, backing down the street, “I thought maybe you might be interested.”
    â€œWell, wait a dang sec,” I yelled.
    â€œYou chicks have at it. Good luck!” He slammed his board onto the sidewalk, jumped on, and sped away.
    Leaving me wondering if I’d just been had. Or not.
    Monday afternoon, I kicked my soccer ball up onto the porch. Then I fell into our old creaky porch swing, bone tired. I’d made the Kit Carson team, but just barely, I think. Coach Reeves was surprised, though, to see me show up. He’d been hoping I’dcome to basketball tryouts instead. He lived in my neighborhood and watched me play for years in the cul-de-sac that had a hoop set up.
    My dad was not a basketball person. He was pretty terrible at it. I could outdribble him and outshoot him by the time I was eight. He said basketball was an easy game for lazy athletes and that if I really wanted to develop skills, soccer was the only way to go. Soccer, he was great at, and he’d played all through school. He loved showing me all his moves. I was working at it. My feet were kind of all thumbs.
    I peeled off my shoes and ripe, steamy socks. I slumped back in the swing and closed my eyes. I was glad tryouts were over. My stomach was so empty it felt like a dried-up old raisin. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sway of the swing.
    I wished Dad were here so I could tell him that I’d made the team. He’d be really happy.
    I remembered the last time I’d sat out here with him. Mom was mad at him about something, so he and I had escaped the house together. It was raining like crazy, and he took my hand to read my palm. He said a fortune-teller would probably charge me extra because my hand was so big. Kind of like how car washes charge extra for trucks and vans. We laughed about that. Then I teased him that he could get ahalf-price special at a manicurist, because his nails were so short—he had them bitten down nearly to the moons. Sometimes he peeled the sides down until they bled. It drove Mom crazy.
    God, I wished he would just come home. Seemed like I’d spent my whole life waiting for him. Even after I was first born, it had taken him two days to get to the hospital to meet me. I’d once figured out that in my whole lifetime, I’d been away from him more than I’d ever been with him.
    When Nana first got sick and the army let him out early to run the café, I thought we had him for good. But then Mom went and ruined it all. To her, whatever Dad did was wrong. When he’d have to stay late at the café, she’d get mad. When he had to go on business trips to buy supplies, she’d stomp around the house with her lips sewn up tight.
    When she got pregnant with Jack, I was so glad. I figured it would change everything. Mom would finally be happy, and Dad would stay home forever. No such luck in my sorry life. Instead, it was like watching a long line of dominoes fall—
    Nana’s cancer starts to spread like a wildfire— clack-clack-clack-clack-clack —
    Dad is so sad he can hardly work— click-click —
    Mom