Mud Girl by Alison Acheson Read Free Book Online

like that before and she’s not going tostart now.
If I hadn’t been born to these parents, I’d have come out somewhere, somehow. I’ve never not wanted to be. I’d just rather not be here.
    She closes the dictionary. On second thought, she opens it again, then SLAMS it shut. Dad’s face does appear around the wing of his chair. He says nothing, but she’s grateful for his look of annoyance. If he can still be annoyed, there’s hope.
    There’s a mumble from him. “Why aren’t you in school?”
    So maybe there isn’t hope. “Summer holidays.”
    He grunts.
    She fights a sudden urge to throw the television out the window. Another D word: defenestration.
To throw something
(or someone?)
out the window
. And they think kids watch too much television. Try all the mind rot adults watch; takes their thoughts, like soda crackers, and grinds them into a soup of mindlessness. They don’t even need teeth to eat it.
    When was the last time she saw Dad outside the house? Really outside – not just on the dock? Can’t imagine what it would take to get him out of that chair. He could put his glasses on for a start, and see where he was going.
    Maybe she’ll have to start a fire. No. Foster home for sure, and that would be after a while of wherever they stow Young Arsonists.
    Ping!
She turns to look at the east window. Again a pebble hits the glass. Dad starts, but doesn’t move from his chair.
    â€œAbi!” It’s Jude, waving his lunch bag, a newspaper rolled up under his arm. She grabs a box of crackers and a chunk of cheddar, an apple with just a couple of bad spots, pulls the old car blanket from the chesterfield.
    Outside, a wind has come up, and the river moves with caps of dirty white foam. The warm summer wind raises the downy hair on her arms. She sets out the blanket and sits in the middle.
    â€œHey!” Jude nudges her bum with the toe of his shoe. “You think you’re alone here?”
    She scoots over.
    â€œYou spend a lot of time alone?” he asks as he unwraps a sandwich. He checks between the slices of bread.
    She doesn’t answer.
    â€œYour mum makes your lunch?” is her question.
    He nods and bites into the sandwich. She can smell the heavy fragrance of a cheese Mum used to like.
Maybe still does.
She opens her box of crackers.
    â€œYour mum doesn’t mind taking care of your son?”
    Jude looks surprised. “No, of course not.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYour son,” she says. “Dyl.”
    Jude looks at her. Just how she’s not sure. As if he wants to read her mind?
    â€œIt’s just a question,” she says.
    â€œWell,” he begins, and finishes chewing his bite of sandwich. Then he grins. “He’s two,” he says, and promptly takes another bite.
    She waits for more.
    â€œHaven’t you heard of the terrible twos?”
    â€œI guess so, but I don’t really know anything about it.”
    â€œYou’ve never babysat kids?”
    â€œNot too many kids in the neighbourhood,” she says, pointing with her chin in the direction of the road. “Or anyone, for that matter.”
    â€œHmm.” His eyes become slits as he scrutinizes her. “Well, he says the word ‘no’ a lot, and he’s kind of like a piece of Velcro: stuck on my pant leg all the time, you know?”
    No, I don’t know
. But she says nothing, and begins to eat. Jude’s touch on her arm is light, and he draws from one freckle to the next. “Connect the dots,” he says, “and what do you have?”
    She hope he doesn’t notice that her skin is suddenly goose-pimpled.
    â€œYou’ll have dots with lines,” she says. How can she feel so comfortable with Jude one minute, and the next so uncomfortable and with stupid words coming out of her mouth?
    He pulls away slowly, sits back with his eyes on the