My Homework Ate My Homework by Patrick Jennings Read Free Book Online

math. It just isn’t my thing.
Drama
is my thing!”
    “No kidding,” Mother says under her breath.
    Abalina grunts, then bangs her fist on the table. It hits her spoon, which sends the peas in it flying. One lands in my milk.
    My father cups his hands around his mouth, making a megaphone, and announces, “Step right up! Step right up! Try your luck at games of skill! That’s right—games of skill!”
    “One pea in a glass wins!” I chime in.
    My mother leans her head onto her hand and wilts.
    “Mother, why don’t you go in and rest?” Father says. “You’ve had a trying day. Our eldest daughter and I will clean up in here. Right, eldest daughter?”
    “We will?”
    Father elbows me.
    “I mean, we will!”
    Mother nods, then climbs slowly to her feet.
    “That’s it!” Father says as she plods out of the room. “You go in and lie down and leave everything to us.”
    “You’re welcome, Mother!” I call after her.
    “It’s not easy being a stay-at-home parent,” Father whispers to me after Mother is gone. “I know. I stayed home with you.”
    Which is probably why I’m fun and a good actor, and not a grump like Mother.
    Poor Abby.
    She’s sitting in what we call her director’s chair, which attaches to the table. It’s like a real director’s chair, only it’s small and doesn’t have legs. When Abby sits in it, she looks like she’sfloating above the ground. It used to be mine when I was little. I bet it was fun to sit in it. Now I’m too big, and my feet reach the floor.
    Father stands up and starts clearing the table, so I help. I don’t even wait till he asks me, like I do with my mother. It’s more fun cleaning up with him. He makes it fun.
    “After we clean up d’is mess, we gotta set up ten tables,” he says with a New York accent, like the cab drivers in movies. He faux-chews a wad of gum. “Big convention in town. Extoyminatahs, I hear.”
    “I heard it was teachahs,” I say, getting into the act.
    “Heh. What’s duh diff’rence?”
    We faux-guffaw.
    “When we’re done heeah, I can help you with d’at homework a’ yuhs. I’m not too shabby at math. I got all the way up to the t’oid grade, you know.”
    “I was t’inkin’ mebbe we could watch a movie tuhgedda tonight. Whaddya say?” I nudge him. “I’ll buy ya a box a’ popcorn. I hear
Calamity Jane
is playin’ in da livin’ room.”
    “Gee, d’at would be swell! But is it suitable for a baby? Ain’t d’ere a lotta shootin’ an’ guns an’ whatnot?”
    “D’ere is. It prolly ain’t appropriate fer young’uns.”
    “Tell you what. I’ll put d’is one to bed while you finish up in here. Deal?”
    “Deal.”
    He leaves with Abby, and I go back to the table for more dishes.
    That’s when my mother walks in.
    “No movie,” she says. “Not till your math is done.”
    “But I
did
my math, Mother! Remember? All day!”
    “No movies till you’re caught up. Responsibilities before fun.”
    “Watching
Calamity Jane
isn’t fun. I need to watch it to prepare for my role in the play. It’s research. It’s homework!”
    “No movie,” Mother says. “Math.” And she leaves the room.
    I sit down at the table, fuming. I know she’s going to go talk to Father. He’ll listen to her, too.We won’t watch the movie. I’ll spend the night copying Wain’s homework instead.
    I can’t wait till I’m famous. Then I’ll write my memoirs and tell the world all about how my mother tried to sabotage my career. I’ll make her the villain in my life story. That’ll show her.
    Father comes into the kitchen, his head hung low, like he’s about to tell me bad news. He faux-punches my arm. “Rain check on duh movie?”

The popcorn Father made for me is gone except for some unpopped kernels. I lick my finger and mop up the rest of the salty butter at the bottom of the bowl. Then it’s gone. There’s nothing to do now but my homework.
    I sigh and look at the next problem.

    I know how to do it. I just