Guy Wire by Sarah Weeks Read Free Book Online Page B

friend,” George sneered.
    “You really shouldn’t have done it,” Fennimore said again, looking at me and shaking his head.
    Okay, okay, I got the message. I wasn’t about to hang around here any longer getting dumped on. It wasn’t my fault if Fennimore would rather have a best friend who spit and cackled like a goose than one who would sacrifice his own head of hair for him. Some great plan I’d come up with.
    I ran and got on my bike, and pedaled home as fast as I could. I hated that stupid George from Pigeon Forge. And I hated Fennimore, too, for not understanding that a person who would do what I’d done for him was the kind of person anybody ought to realize would make a great friend.
    My mother was in the kitchen cutting up cheese when I got home.
    “So what did Fennimore say about yourhaircut?” she asked. “I’ll bet he was impressed.”
    “Oh yeah. Impressed with what a jerk I am.”
    “Well, I’m sure he’ll come around. I think it was very noble of you.”
    “Mom, can I ask you something?” I said.
    “Ask away,” she said.
    “What does ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ mean?”
    “It means that people tend to be like their parents. An apple tree produces apples. The parents are the trees, and their children are the apples they produce. Get it?”
    I got it all right. What it meant was that no matter what I did, people were always going judge me by the tree I’d fallen out of. Just like Fennimore had done.
    “Guysie, which do you think is more festive, white cheese or yellow cheese?” my mother asked.
    Why did my tree have to be so weird? Why did my mother have to ask questionsabout cheese? How was anyone supposed to ever be able to see who I really was? How was I even supposed to know who I was? Maybe I really was weird, and just didn’t know it.
    “Oh, by the way,” my mother said, “Mrs. Adams called a little while ago. Seems they’ve got a houseguest this weekend. George, I think she said his name was. Anyway, he’ll be joining us for dinner tomorrow night.”
    I’d forgotten all about the dinner! Maybe if Fennimore had been coming on his own, we would have found a way to talk. I could have convinced him that I wasn’t a nut like my parents and that he ought to give me another chance. But with George there making fun of me, things between Fennimore and me were just going to get worse.
    “This is going to be such fun!” my mother said, happily chopping away. “Assorted cheeses and new friends. What could be more perfect?”
    I just looked at her and sighed. I knew there was no point in even trying to explain how much I wished at that moment that my apple had fallen a million miles away from her tree.

Chapter Eleven
    T he doorbell rang at six o’clock on the dot.
    “Come in, come in, you’re right on time. Let the party begin!” Mom sang to our company. “Guy! Company’s here!”
    I came out of my room and stood at the top of the stairs looking down. When I saw what my mother was wearing, I could have kicked myself for not thinking to check on her beforehand.
    She had on one of what she calls her “hostess-with-the-mostest outfits.” This one was particularly bizarre. She was wearing a skirt made out of potholders she’d sewn together. The matching blouse had red flames painted on the front and wooden kitchenmatches hot-glued to the back that spelled out “Too hot to handle.” My father was wearing his usual too-short pants, white socks and loafers, and a shirt that matched my mother’s. On the back of his, the matches spelled out “Light my fire.”
    I saw George poke Fennimore in the ribs and point at my father’s socks when his back was turned. Fennimore whispered something in George’s ear, and they both laughed.
    “Why don’t you two boys run upstairs and find Guysie,” my mother suggested.
    “Yeah,” said George. “Let’s go find Guysie .”
    Quickly I went back to my room and grabbed a book so they wouldn’t know that I’d been