Kissing Kate by Lauren Myracle Read Free Book Online Page A

refrigerator.
    Pickles. Yogurt. Cold spaghetti left over from last night. Eggs. Applesauce. Half a stick of butter. Milk.
    I closed the door and leaned against it. I wanted something comforting, something rich and fattening and full of calories. Homemade doughnuts. Grits casserole. Fried bologna sandwiches. When I was little, Mom used to make fried bologna sandwiches for me. The slice of bologna would puff up in the middle like a turtle shell, and Mom would slit it with a knife to make it lie flat on the bread. Then she’d cut the sandwich into four smaller sandwiches and serve them to me with apple juice and Goldfish crackers. While I ate, she’d tell me stories about my day: Lissa Gets Her Toenails Cut, Lissa Makes Up Her Bed, Lissa Finds the House Key and Saves the Day. Never anything remarkable, but the way she told them, she made me feel like a star.
    Once I asked Jerry for a fried bologna sandwich, back when he first moved in with us. He didn’t butter the pan, and the bottom of the sandwich turned black. I ate it anyway, eyes on my plate while Jerry read the paper, until he saw my expression and dumped what was left in the trash.
    Kate’s mom stocked their freezer with Lean Cuisines, and except for the times when her dad did the shopping, the only cookies in their pantry were fat-free oatmeal raisin. Jerry was a horrible cook and he knew it, but at least he made the effort. One time he invented a pretty good recipe for peanut butter-coconut bars, and every so often he whipped together a batch of fudge that we could snack on for days. The first time he tried, he turned the stove up too high, and the fudge hardened around the wooden spoon like cement around a flagpole. Jerry let the pan cool, then gave knives to Beth and me and let us chip off as many flakes as we wanted. Beth didn’t remember, but I did.
    I checked the contents of the pantry, but there were no tins of brownies I’d forgotten I’d made, no secret loaves of banana bread. From the den, I heard the old cartoons Beth loved: Bugs Bunny’s wise-guy laugh and spurts of lively music. I tapped my thumbnail against my teeth, then reached to the top shelf and grabbed the graham crackers, which I set on the counter along with a jar of peanut butter, a box of raisins, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. I grabbed two plates from the cabinet and got to work.
    “What is it?” Beth asked when I presented her with my creation.
    “It’s a snack. I made you a snack. Aren’t you hungry?”
    “Not really.” She poked the marshmallow and wrinkled her nose.
    “Beth, it’s good. It’s like peanut-butter-and-marshmallow cream, which you love.” I sat down beside her and took a bite, but the marshmallow made the peanut butter sandwich too tall, and raisins rained to the floor as I struggled to bite down. I’d tried pressing the raisins into the marshmallow—I thought it would look cheerful—but the marshmallow was too doughy and it didn’t quite work.
    “Mmm,” I said. A raisin zinged the coffee table.
    “Don’t we have any potato chips?” Beth asked.
    “Just try it, Beth.”
    She picked up her snack and took a small bite from the corner. Her expression stayed suspicious, but she took another bite. “Vanessa got elected class leader,” she said with her mouth full.
    “Oh yeah?”
    “She gets to pass out all the handouts, and if Ms. Hutchinson needs a note taken to the office, she gets to take it.”
    “Huh.”
    We watched as Bugs Bunny stole a row of carrots from a neighbor’s garden, pulling them from the soil as if he were ripping the seam from a pair of pants.
    “And Toby Norton asked her to go steady with him, but she said no.” Beth plucked the raisins from her marshmallow. “She says his teeth look like vomit.”
    “Beth.”
    “Well, they do. They’re yellow and kind of speckled-y. I don’t think he brushes them enough.”
    I finished my last bite of graham cracker and wiped the crumbs off my mouth. “What about Nikki? Are you two