Just Plain Al: The Al Series, Book Five by Constance C. Greene Read Free Book Online Page A

he?” I asked. Mrs. Oakley came to our apartment the day Teddy sang the dirty song. The same day Al and I hid in the broom closet while Teddy performed, we were so embarrassed. My mother told me later that Mrs. Oakley kept time to the music with her dainty foot and never turned a hair at Teddy’s lyrics.
    â€œYou’ve got to give the old girl credit,” my father said. He likes Mrs. Oakley. My mother can take her or leave her.
    â€œHe’s coming alone,” my mother said. “I would never have thought of asking him, but he’s fond of Al.”
    â€œAl thinks Grandfather’s an ace,” I said.
    My mother laughed. “And so he is,” she agreed.
    â€œSo that makes you and Dad, me and Al, Al’s mother, Polly, and Grandfather,” I counted on my fingers. “Seven in all.”
    â€œDon’t forget Teddy,” my mother tossed out, leaving the room on the pretext of work to be done. She was escaping from me, I’m sure of it.
    No, sir. I put my foot down on Teddy. In more ways than one. Teddy would have to be eliminated. For the evening. Nothing permanent. Ha, ha.
    We haven’t discussed the menu yet. If my mother says tuna or meat loaf, the party’s off. Polly said she’d bake a cake. Al’s mother called and was almost crying, she was so delighted about us giving Al a party.
    â€œYou have no idea what your family means to us,” Al’s mother told mine. “You’ve made us feel right at home here and more of a family together, Al and me. I can never thank you enough. This will be a memorable occasion.”
    Not if we have tuna-fish surprise it won’t be.
    But I underestimated my mother. She decided to spring for a standing rib roast. And it wasn’t even on special! My father’s eyes misted over as he heard the news.
    â€œWhen was the last time we had a rib roast?” he said wistfully. “Wasn’t it the day you told me you were having a baby? And that,” he pointed to me, “was the baby, and she’s about to be thirteen. I’m pretty sure that was the last time we had a rib roast.”
    My mother looked at him in a way that, if Al had looked that way, it would’ve been a super duper piercer.
    â€œAnd I think asparagus would be nice.” My mother plowed onward.
    On my mother’s family’s coat of arms is engraved, “Never buy fresh fruit or vegetables out of season.” This was going to be a bang-up bash, all right.
    Just as we were discussing what flavor ice cream might be best, the bell rang. Two, then one, then two. It was the guest of honor, two days early.
    I opened the door a crack. “Go away,” I said. “You’ve got the wrong night.”
    â€œTa dah!” Al stood there in her red shoes, her AL(exandra) the Great T-shirt, and a billowy skirt that reached her ankles. She was smiling. “I think I’ve got it,” she said softly. “I really think I’ve got it this time.”
    â€œGot what?” I whispered, afraid of breaking the spell.
    Al looked over her left shoulder, then over her right. When she saw the coast was clear, she whispered, “Zandi.”
    Was this the secret password?
    â€œHow do you spell it?” I asked.
    â€œWith a capital Z,” she said, “and an i at the end. How does that grab you?”
    â€œWell,” I opened the door all the way, “it’s different. I’ll say that. The trouble is, with an unusual name like Zandi, nobody will know how to spell it. You’ll get it spelled all kinds of ways. It’s sort of far out, you might say.”
    â€œThat’s what I like about it.” Al couldn’t stop smiling. “This morning, when I woke up, a little voice said, right smack in my ear, it said, ‘Your name is Zandi.’ Just like that.” Al looked closely at me to see if I bought that one. I kept my face inscrutable, which ain’t easy.
    â€œSo then I