Personal Effects by E. M. Kokie Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Our old house on Mulberry Street was two doors down from the house Shauna still lives in. We played in the sprinkler on her front lawn. Rode bikes up and down the block. I never knocked before running in her back door.
    When things were good, Mom made us grilled-cheese sandwiches and chocolate milk with bendy straws. Shauna always left her crusts, but she would nibble down to the very outer edge trying to get all the cheese. I would bend my straw back and forth like an accordion, making fart noises, just to make Shauna laugh. The first time I did it, by accident, she spewed milk out her nose.
    “That’s enough of that,” Mom said, confiscating my straw.
    I didn’t care, because Shauna was still laughing, despite the chocolate milk everywhere.
    Mom wiped Shauna’s hands and face, pretending to be annoyed but laughing and shaking her head and finally tapping the end of Shauna’s nose with her finger.
    “Thanks, Mrs. Foster.” Mom didn’t even hear her, because Shauna talked really softly when we were little, before we started school, at least when anyone else was around.
    I heard T.J.’s cleats on the back porch, and so did Shauna. She stared at the door with big eyes, nibbling at her lip, waiting for him. She didn’t have any brothers, and she was kind of in awe of T.J., at least when T.J. wasn’t being mean.
    “Eh! Cleats off,” Mom yelled before T.J. could get through the door. “I swear, if you track mud through here again, you’re going to be spending the afternoon —”
    “Yeah, yeah,” T.J. said. He was thirteen and almost as tall as Mom. He leaned against the door frame, kicking his cleats off onto back the porch, grinning the whole time, like it was a game.
    He thought he was so cool just because he was on the traveling baseball team with the older kids.
    “Time to cut that hair,” Mom said, miming with her fingers and catching some of T.J.’s hair. He swatted her hand away, then ducked past her toward the fridge.
    “Go wash up first.” Mom sighed, waving him down the hall.
    On his way past, T.J. slimed my ear with his spit-wet finger.
    “Quit it!” I yelled.
    “Teddy!” Only Mom got to call him that. Even then, he’d have beat my ass if I called him Teddy. “Act your age, please.”
    “Mo-om,” I whined, rubbing my ear.
    “I know, bud,” she said, like she couldn’t do anything about T.J.’s wet willies.
    Shauna rolled her head to her shoulder in sympathy, or maybe to protect her own ear.
    T.J. slid into his chair next to me and swiped half my sandwich before I remembered to protect my plate. He took a huge bite while I shrieked. After he put it back, he grabbed my milk and pretended to drink it. I tried to grab it back, but I couldn’t reach far enough without jumping off my chair.
    “Teddy, cut it out.” Mom plucked my favorite red plastic cup from his hand and put it back next to my plate. I pushed my ruined sandwich half onto the table.
    “Mom,” I whined, already feeling the heat and tears hit my eyes, but trying not to cry in front of Shauna.
    “I’ll make you another half,” she said, rubbing her hand over my head, trying to calm me down.
    It was no fair. He always got away with stuff.
    T.J. chugged some milk, then burped really loud. Shauna giggled.
    I was so mad. I didn’t want her laughing at T.J. She was
my
friend. And he was being a jerk.
    He nudged my leg with his foot and did it again — chugging more milk and burping. But this time, it was like we were playing together. I gulped down some milk, tucked my chin, and forced out the smallest burp.
    “Nice!” T.J. said, high-fiving me. My hand stung from the too-hard slap.
    “Lovely,” Mom said, shaking her head but smiling again.
    And when Shauna laughed, it was for me.
    It was the last good summer, and the last year T.J. played baseball.
    That summer we practically lived in the kitchen, Mom and T.J. and me. Dad worked a lot, and sometimes he would go away for a few days if he had sites to inspect too