Gimme a Call by Sarah Mlynowski Read Free Book Online

to sound nonchalant, and then click over to my other line. “Do you like Bryan or something? Is that what this is about?” Yes, that must be it. Someone saw me ogling Bryan today at baseball, guessed that I liked him, and now wants to stop us from going out.
    “I don’t like Bryan. I mean, I did like Bryan … but I don’t anymore. We don’t anymore. He ruined our life. But that’s not the point.” She lets out a sigh. “Did you agree to go out with him?”
    As if I’d say no. “It’s none of your business,” I huff.
    She groans. “It most definitely is. You’re me . I’m you . We’re the same person. Don’t you get it?”
    “That isn’t possible!” If she doesn’t like Bryan, why is she calling me? Who is she? A mosquito snaps at my arm and I wave it away. “Will you just hold on a sec? I want to go inside. Or you can call me back. Or can I call you back?” If Crazy Stalker Girl gives me her number, maybe I can block her calls.
    “I don’t think that’ll work. I’ll just hold.”
    I unlock the door, kick off my shoes, and tiptoe into the house. I stop when I see the kitchen light on.
    “Hello?” I say.
    “It’s me,” my dad says, poking his head out. “Just getting a snack.”
    He’s still dressed in his suit and tie and is holding a plate of lemon chicken. His eyes look tired, like he’s spent the last twenty-four hours in front of a computer. His hair is starting to turn gray too. His job is seriously killing him. The bags under his eyes are huge and his suit looks baggy on him. He could use a few plates of lemon chicken.
    “Late night?” I ask.
    He sighs. “Yeah.”
    “Mom asleep?”
    He nods. “I’m just finishing this and going to bed. I have to go back into the office tomorrow.”
    “Good night,” I say, clutching my phone against my chest. I hope she didn’t hear all that. Crazy Girl doesn’t need to know any more details about my life.
    When I close the door to my room, I pick up the phone and say, “Go on.”
    “Dad sounds so tired,” she says sadly.
    She’s too much. “Not Dad ,” I say. “My dad. Mine.”
    “He’s my dad too. I’m you. Aren’t you paying attention? I can prove it to you.”
    I swallow. “No thanks.”
    “I know everything about you. Your bank code is 1016, your mom’s birthday.”
    I gasp. How …? She must have found out my mom’s birthday. Mom only keeps the year a secret. I’m sure I’m not the first girl whose bank code is her mother’s b-day, right?
    “Your computer password is Ivy0805, which is a combination of the name you wish your parents had given you instead of naming you after your dad’s dead grandmother, and the day you were supposed to be born on, except Mom went into labor two weeks early after having two bowls of Peking Gardens’ hot and sour soup.”
    My whole body is tingling.
    “You love Froot Loops right from the box. You also like to eat your pizza upside down so it doesn’t burn the top of your mouth. You love extra-sharp cheddar, the white kind, even though you always manage to cut your thumb on the cheese slicer. You’re terrified of dogs. You squat when you go to the bathroom at school because you’re afraid of getting a disease, and sometimes you pee on the floor by accident.”
    “That was only once!” Twice. Four times, max.
    “Five, actually,” she says.
    “Okay, five.”
    “The reason you skipped the holiday party in eighth grade was not because you had a hundred-and-two fever, like you told your cute but dumb ex-boyfriend, Jarred, but because you burnt your upper lip trying to bleach it and gave yourself a red mustache. Maya felt bad for you and stayed home and watched movies with you. You didn’t even tell Karin the truth. Speaking of Karin, remember when you went out with Anthony Flare even though you knew she liked him? Oh yeah, you knew. She never told you she did, or admitted to anyone, but you’re her best friend. And you did it anyway.”
    My hands are shaking. No one—I repeat, no