Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit by Jaye Robin Brown Read Free Book Online

and quiet.
    B.T.B. points to Mary Carlson’s friend. “That’s Gemma. Marnie looks like her.”
    Mary Carlson looks shocked. “B.T.B., you’re going to hurt Jo . . . anna’s feelings. You can’t talk about Marnie when she’s here.”
    â€œI can’t?” B.T.B. looks between us.
    I shake my head and he shrugs, but his grin doesn’t die. “Okay,” he says.
    I’m spared from any further conversation by the entry of the youth pastor. A guy, of course. Just once I’d like to walk into something like this and see a woman leading the group.
    One of the benefits of the other teenagers thinking I’m with B.T.B. is nobody expects me to answer any questions or join in any discussions. They’re happy to let us sit in the corner, eating cookies and smiling. I whisper to B.T.B., “Don’t you ever want to be a part of this?”
    â€œI am,” he says. “I even have an elephant tie.”
    â€œThat you do.”
    When the lesson is wrapped, thankfully more about the love of Christ and less about the onus of the Spirit, Pastor Hank reminds the youth group about Wednesday study, pizza, and movie night, then releases us into the hallway. I don’t think he noticed me, because I feel certain I would have been called up in front of the group and made to announce all my vital statistics.
    I’m actually relieved when I make it to the car and find Three waiting.
    â€œHow was it?” she said. “Did you meet some of the others?”
    â€œYeah, B.T.B.’s sister and her friend. Mostly I laid low.”
    I unlock our doors and am getting in, when I hear Mary Carlson across the parking lot. “Oh, look, B.T.B.Your friend drives a car. If she can do it, I know you can.”
    Three gives me a strange look and I start the engine before they get any closer. “What was that about?”
    â€œNo telling,” I say.
    At after-church lunch, the buffet at the local steak house, Three recounts her walk with me to the youth group room and how delighted she was to see that I’d already made friends with the Bailey kids.
    Mrs. Foley dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “The daughter is delightful. Such a shame about the boy.”
    Three stiffens and Tater sighs.
    I cough up a bread stick. “You mean B.T.B.? He’s awesome. He’s been incredibly kind to me this first week at school.” My you can’t be serious glare lands on my step-grandmother.
    Tater pats my hand. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t always think before she speaks.”
    â€œYou two are always twisting my words to make me out as a monster.” Mrs. Foley huffs. “I only meant that with their parents’ good genetics and even better family name, I’m surprised that God would have sent them such a trial.”
    â€œMom, Barnum is a blessing, not a trial.” Three looks annoyed, and for the second time today it makes mequestion my stepmom misery plan.
    â€œOh, you know what I mean.” Mrs. Foley flags her napkin onto her lap.
    â€œYes, dear,” Tater says. “I think we actually do.”
    Mrs. Foley’s mouth stretches into a thin line as she stabs her fork into a green bean. The rest of the lunch is silent.

Seven
    I FEEL LIKE A GUEST in my own room. I did choose the color, a cool smoky purple with an off-white, barely lavender trim. And the bedspread is this gorgeous shiny pewter fabric I found at an Indian import store. It has tiny bits of mirror sewn into a raised curly embroidery pattern all over it. I even picked out some purple and cayenne colored throw pillows to pile over the matching pillow shams. But for some reason I haven’t been able to unpack my boxes of books, my ancient stuffed animals, or any of my twisted attempts at craftiness. There are a few black and white photos on the walls, botanical images from a summer trip my mom and dad took before I was born. Dad says Mom was a skilled