Losing Joe's Place by Gordon Korman Read Free Book Online Page A

was alive in the conversation. In ten seconds, he had a taxi. Don, who had been ready to leave Jessica unconscious in a pool of melting milkshake, got the girl. I got “it was very nice meeting you.” I hated both their guts.
    â€œHold it,” said Jessica as Don was about to climb into the cab beside her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    Don was mystified. “Going with you.”
    â€œNot like that you’re not.”
    Don surveyed himself in anxiety. Could it be that there was a flaw in the outfit he’d spent hours selecting?
    â€œYour wallet’s in your back pocket!” exclaimed Jessica. “Do you want to make yourself a target for a pickpocket?”
    â€œNo way!” agreed Don. This was the guy who refused to carry anything in his front pocket because it threw off the visual symmetry of his lower body. Not only did he move his wallet, but Ferguson and I had to move ours, too.
    I stood fuming as they drove off. “I can’t believe it! Why would she go with
him?”
    Ferguson shrugged. “Maybe society
is
a smelly cesspool.”
    â€œDon was right about one thing,” I seethed. “Girls really don’t want nice guys. If it wasn’t for us, she’d still be out cold, wearing dessert.
He
was ready to head for Switzerland. And what do we get? Anti-pickpocket advice!” I pulled out my wallet and jammed it into its former position. “Hey, pickpockets, lookee here! It’s party time!”
    The Peach put a sympathetic arm around my shoulder. “At least we know he’s safe from crime. I pity the poor sap who tries to mug
her
.”
    * * *
    Since July 1st was Canada Day, and Plotnick refused to do business on a holiday, our rent was due the next morning. I broke in our new checkbook — number 001, to Plotnick, $685. Writing checks makes a guy feel very independent. It almost made me forget my telephone call from my parents, who made boring small talk for twenty minutes, leaving long pauses so I could break down and beg them to come and take me home. I filled in this dead air by raving about Plastics Unlimited, telling them everything about the company except the fact that Don and I didn’t work there anymore.
    Don was still bragging about his enchanting evening with Jessica Lincoln. “I was ‘on’ last night, and Jessica knew it. I was the perfect combination of hipness and coolness. You want to know the best part? She lives right near here, just up Bathurst. Convenient or what?”
    â€œGreat,” I mumbled, without enthusiasm.
    Don didn’t get the message. “I could tell she was really impressed when I bought her a single perfect rose from this vendor on the street.”
    â€œShe must have been devastated,” put in Ferguson. “She had her heart set on a bullet-proof vest.”
    â€œShut up, Peachfuzz,” Don said mildly. Last night had put him in a mellow mood, and not even the Peach could rile him. “You’re just jealous. We’ve got to work on scaring up a woman for you.” He looked thoughtful. “There must be some boring people around. Maybe a lady professor of Stonehenge.”
    I was determined not to show it, but my guts were churning. If Mr. Wonderful said one more word, I was going to pop him. Obviously Jessica had no taste at all. Any idiot could see that I would treat her like a queen, and Don would treat her like a customer at the ice cream parlor — take a number and wait — “Now serving number twenty-three.”
    I tore out the rent check. “Let’s go pay up.” With the walk to the deli came a pleasant surprise. Plotnick had finally gotten around to having the stair fixed. In fact, he’d had all the stairs fixed, and a new bannister installed. And carpeting.
    God’s Grandmother was flitting up and down barefoot, enjoying the new luxury. “Isn’t it lovely?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I