Girl in Reverse (9781442497368) by Barbara Stuber Read Free Book Online Page A

purse? “The side door doesn’t lock every time, so somebody could just come in there. . . . Anyway, I left them on your front porch.”
    â€œYes, w . . . w . . . well . . . Okay. Bye.”
    I squeeze the receiver of our magical telephone. Ralph is standing one and a half inches away, coating me with Wrigley’s spearmint breath. Git! I bump him with my knee. “Go away— now— or die.” I walk to the front hall and creak open the heavy door. My textbooks are in a neat pile with my purse on top. I look up and down the block. No Elliot.
    I flutter upstairs, past Dad with his newspaper spread on the kitchen table. I unclasp my purse and paw through it—just dull stuff: an elastic headband, comb, my detention slip, Tangee, pen, money. Thank God.
    I sit on my vanity stool, lean in, and stare at the mirror. Same face, new me. I have been telephoned by the mysterious, know-it-all, future artistic genius of the century Elliot James. “So there!”
    Like clockwork Ralph is at my door demanding, “Who was that?”
    â€œMichelangelo.” I know Ralph has no earthly idea who Michelangelo is, but he’d never admit it. “He brought my books over.”
    â€œYeah,” he says, “thought I recognized him. Hey, check this out.” He drags me to his room and opens the door tothe attic. The bottom stair holds his Scout gear—binoculars, a camping heater, ditty bag, magnifying glass, his Handbook for Boys .
    The next step houses his newly revamped Scout collection. “I’ve got a theme now, like you suggested.” But it doesn’t look like it. There’s the odd polished stick and the fossil shell. The rotten squirrel tail has been replaced with a bundle of bamboo poles and string. “Wind chimes,” Ralphie says, lifting them in front of me. He sits back on his heels. “For my pigeons.”
    â€œWhy, yes, of course. How excellent.” I shake my head. “ What pigeons?”
    He points. “Up there. I’m doing the Pigeon Raising merit badge. You know, squab .”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œFor racing and flight contests and carrying secret messages. There’s coop sanitation and seeds and grit and record keeping . . .”
    â€œEw. Where’d you buy them?”
    â€œDidn’t. The pigeons were already up there. Now all I have to do is raise ’em.” He jiggles the wind chimes. “These’ll keep them in a good mood.”
    â€œNo, stupid. Where’d you buy the wind chimes?”
    â€œChow House gift shop.” Ralph backs away from the steps on his knees and turns to me. “We’ve gotta eat there sometime.”
    â€œI told you, I’m never going in there.”
    â€œTheir shop is neat. They also sell wrist rests like this. New ones. Chinese artists use them to prop their forearms up while they paint. Gives a better angle for the brush. But this one of mine is old . An antique.” Ralph gives me long look. “Have you ever seen one before?”
    I hear a car cruising slowly down our street— Elliot? I hop up, peek out of Ralph’s window, but I can’t see a thing. I turn back. “Huh?”
    â€œLike I just said , they sell these at the Chow House.”
    Ralph waves the stick in front of my face. “Ding-dong, anybody home?” He puts it in my hand.
    I look down “What’d you say this was?”
    â€œGod! Never mind.” Ralph puts it back on the step. Sighs.
    My brain is fuzz. What a day!
    It started in Kansas City and ended in Weird Town.

Chapter 8
    Neil Bradford’s brother, Tom, is missing in action in North Korea.
    After attendance is taken Friday morning the principal announces an all-school gathering outside by the flagpole. Neil and his sister, Susan, who is a freshman, stand by the principal. Susan is crying. She looks scared to death. Neil has his arm around her. Everybody is