Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase by Jen Lancaster Read Free Book Online Page A

upstairs is all cramped and tiny. Only one person fits in our kitchen at a time and you have to walk through my parents’ bedroom to get to the backyard. However, our basement is ridiculously, luxuriously expansive. We’ve got a rec room with a whole separate bar area at the end of it, another room where we keep our pool table, and an entire second kitchen, which is way bigger than the kitchen upstairs. (Don’t ask me why we don’t just use that one.)
    The basement’s where our color TV and cable box live, too. It gives a girl a comforting feeling to return from a taxing day of fifth grade and know she has enough channels to find The Brady Bunch any time she wants to watch. Sometimes if my parents aren’t paying attention, I can sneak glimpses of R-rated movies on Home Box Office, too!
    So we’re all in the basement for a family meeting. I’m intrigued because we’ve never had a family meeting before. Normally, if my parents have something to say, they just say it. No need for pomp and/or circumstance.
    My dad slips behind the bar to fix himself a small glass of something brown over ice while my brother and I spin around on our bar stools. My mom doesn’t yell at us for “wrecking the seats” by twirling in them, also another first. And she doesn’t even shoot me a look when I accidentally kick the bar with my wooden clog. Huh.
    Then, without any warning or warm-up, my father looks us in the eyes and says, “I fired the man running the distribution center and now I have to take over. We’re moving to Indiana.”
    To which I reply, “Pfft. Maybe you’re moving to Indiana, but I’m not.”
    I’ll spare you the details of my clichéd expressions of grief—the rending of garments, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, the kicking of the bar really fucking hard with wooden clogs, etc. Trust me—I made my displeasure known.
    I’m about to call my favorite librarian at the Bergen County Public Library to have her locate a book that will tell me how a ten-year-old can legally emancipate herself when I’m struck with a thought.
    “Hey . . . ,” I begin. “If I agree to move to Indiana, will you buy me a horse? We could live in an actual farmhouse and have a barn.”
    My parents exchange glances and then my dad answers, “Absolutely. I will absolutely buy you a horse.”
    “Then I’m in,” I agree. “How soon can we leave?”

    FYI? My father is a liar . 26 And the Cow Town public librarian is less than helpful when I request she find me a book on how I might go about suing my parents for breach of contract.

    Today’s the first day of school in Cow Town. I haven’t really met any kids in my new neighborhood yet because as soon as we moved in, I came down with pneumonia and had to spend a week in the hospital. 27 After I was released, I was stuck on bed rest for quite a while. Were we still living in civilization, after I recovered I’d have had plenty of time to invite neighbor kids over to enjoy my new pool because I wouldn’t have to start school until next month. But because this system’s calendar is based on the planting season —hi, is it 1870 all of a sudden?—I’m stuck beginning classes in early August.
    Back in Bergenfield, the first day of school is a huge deal and all the kids break out their very best bits of back-to-school wear. The girls wear pretty wrap skirts and flowered sundresses and the boys don khakis and oxfords. Things get more casual later in the week, but the first few days are all about putting on a show.
    I decide to make my Northwest Elementary School debut in a longish plaid skirt and matching shawl that our old neighbor Mrs. Schneider sent me when she heard I was in the hospital. I’m pairing it with a creamy ruffled blouse and, of course, my clogs. I try to convince my mom to let me borrow a pair of her nylons, but she’s not having it, so I just wear regular knee-highs.
    My house is close to the end of the bus route, so when it stops to get me almost all the seats