My Fake Boyfriend is Better Than Yours by Kristina Springer Read Free Book Online Page A

I was stalled after the
o
, debating whether or not
w
came next, when Sea whispered “u-s-e” from behind me and I spelled the word correctly. I have to believe that
that
Sea is in there somewhere and only temporarily confused from inhaling too much hair bleach or something.
    Dad reaches for a napkin and wipes his mouth. He picks up the TV remote and hits Pause. “Okay,” he states, turning to face me on the couch. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWhat?” I ask. I pull a tiny piece of bread off of the top of my sandwich and put it in my mouth.
    â€œSomething’s wrong. You’re a little off tonight. Did you get in a fight with your mom?”
    â€œNo. Mom’s fine.”
    â€œGot a crush on a boy and he doesn’t even know you’re alive?”
    I giggle. “No . . .”
    â€œYour teachers are all mean and out to get you?”
    â€œDaaaaad!”
    â€œOkay, okay.” He put his hands up in surrender. “Want to just tell me what’s bugging you?”
    â€œNothing. Nothing is really bugging me. I told you, I missed you. I’m happy to be here.” I try to sound convincing.
    â€œAnd I’m happy you’re here too.” He reaches over and ruffles my hair. “But if you decide that you want to tell me about ‘nothing,’ I’m a really good listener. It was my major in college. I got all A’s.”
    I roll my eyes and laugh. “You’re so goofy, Dad.”
    â€œReally? I always felt more like Donald than Goofy,” he replies, and I groan.
    â€œCome on, hit Play,” I tell him, and dip my sandwich into my soup.
    The next morning Dad peeks into his bedroom, where I’m staying. “You almost ready to go?” he asks.
    I walk around the room checking out his latest artwork. I’m super impressed. Sometimes it’s hard to seeyour parents as these real people who can have talents like Dad so obviously does.
    â€œDad, these are really
really
good! Are they going to be in your next show?”
    â€œYou like them?” He pulls a hand through his wavy brown hair. He always gets a little shy when I see his paintings.
    â€œUh-huh, a lot,” I reply. The walls of his bedroom are lined with painting after painting of people who work around the city. There is one of a CTA bus driver looking down and out of the window at the traffic, another of a baker putting up a box of macaroons on a counter, and another of a commuter sitting on the train, listening to her iPod. I stop in front of one of the paintings, recognizing the smile. “Hey, is this that pretzel guy you pointed out yesterday?”
    Dad laughs. “Yeah, that’s Max. Do you like it?”
    I nod. “The salt on the pretzels looks so real I almost want to lick it.”
    â€œWell, don’t do that. I got bagels so we can eat before we head out to the museum.”
    â€œMmmm, yum,” I comment.
    An hour later we’re walking up the steps of the Museum of Science and Industry. It was just a quick bus ride to Lake Shore Drive from Dad’s. He’s so lucky, getting to live near so many cool places. The closestmuseum to our house is the teacup museum, and really, who wants to spend an afternoon looking at teacups? Not me.
    Once inside, we pass right by the guy handing out museum maps. We’ve been here dozens of times, so you could say we’re pros.
    â€œWhere to first, my dear?” Dad asks.
    I glance at the elevator.
    â€œStraight to the top then?” he says.
    â€œYes!”
    A few minutes later we are walking around the You! The Experience exhibit, looking for the new giant heart. There used to be a sixteen-foot walk-through heart that I loved to run in and out of when I was little. Dad has dozens of pictures of me standing in front of it from over the years. The new heart is much cooler though; you can make it beat with your own.
    We reach the heart and I look at Dad and smile.
    â€œOkay,