Nekomah Creek by Linda Crew Read Free Book Online Page A

them.
    Before long both kids were throwing noodles, their little arms jerking out like spring-action catapults.
    I cracked up.
    “Robby,” Mom said in a warning voice. “Don’t encourage them.”
    “I can’t help it,” I pleaded, clapping my hands over my mouth. Parents are so weird. One time something makes them mad, another time they’ll think it’s hilarious. How’s a kid supposed to keep it straight whether they’re in a funny mood or a mad mood?
    Right now Dad looked serious. “We’ve told you over and over, Robby. Just ignore—”
    Whap
. A glob of noodles smacked him in the eye.
    I sucked in my breath.
    Dad reached up, wiped it away.
    Freddie, flinger of the noodles, was waiting with a hopeful look.
    Dad’s eyes narrowed. His black brows went together.
    Oh, no, I thought. He really
is
mad.
    But Freddie was still smiling.
    Slowly, carefully, Dad picked up a noodle from his own plate.
    Then he tossed it at Freddie!
    Freddie shrieked with delight.
    “Oh, Bill.” Mom looked at the ceiling.
    Lucy stood up and squawked for attention, then she dumped her whole bowl over her head.
    We all about fell off our chairs. Even Mom started laughing in a tired, I-give-up sort of way.
    Through strands of orange spaghetti, Lucy grinned at each of us in turn.
    Mom and Dad were laughing. Hot dog! That meant I could laugh too. I wished the counselor could see this. My nutty family! I wanted to make them laugh too.
    I picked up
my
plate of spaghetti and turned it over
my
head.
    The laughing stopped.
    Mom and Dad jumped up.
    “Robby! For cryin’ out loud!”
    Warm noodles were sliding down my neck. Mom attacked me with a dish towel. I guess there was a lot more spaghetti on my plate than in Lucy’s bowl. Mom dragged me toward the bathroom.
    “What on earth would make you do such a thing?”
    “I don’t know,” I wailed as she made me kneel down and put my head under the tub faucet. Things had gone from good to bad so fast. “Anyway, Dad started it.”
    She muttered something about bad examples, then lectured me about me being nine and how I shouldn’t act like I’m two, et cetera et cetera …
    But all I could think of was how much I hated shampoos, especially when the shampooing person is mad. Besides, a faucet full of water blasting over your head is pretty distracting …
    Dad hauled Lucy in, swung her up on the changing table and started wiping her head.
    “Poopy!” she cried.
    “Okay,” Dad said. “But one end at a time.”
    Freddie trailed in with his favorite stuffed animal, Buddy Wabbit.
    Mom started roughing up my head with a towel.
    “Hey, take it easy!”
    “Spaghetti all over your head.” She stopped toweling and looked at me. “What is the matter with you, anyway?”
    “I don’t know,” I said miserably. “Maybe you ought to ask the school counselor.”
    Dad dropped Lucy’s diaper in the toilet and looked at us. “What’s this?”
    A little warning sign popped up in my brain.
Danger: Concern Ahead
. “Oh, nothing.”
    “Robby,” Mom said, “what about the school counselor?”
    I was already kicking myself. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? Sure, that was neat for a second there, suddenly getting their attention in a real dramatic way. But now they’d want to follow up on it and this was not the greatest time.
    I sighed. “They’re making me talk to that new counselor at school. The one
you guys
thought we ought to have. They think I’ve got problems or something.”
    Mom and Dad looked at each other. They looked at me. I groaned to myself. When they act worried, I start thinking maybe there’s really something to be worried about.
    “
Do
you have problems?” Dad said.
    “Well, some. Like I hate that new jacket you bought me.”
    “Come on, get serious.”
    “I am serious. It’s too puffy.”
    “Well, if that’s your worst problem—”
    “It’s not, though! Um … Orin gave me a hard time when I brought a boot box instead of a shoe box for our diorama project. He