Regular Guy by Sarah Weeks Read Free Book Online Page B

figuring out how to do it other than to keep reaching for things with my left hand.
    Now that Mr. Smith was sitting right nearme, I had a good opportunity to check out the dimple in his chin. It was exactly like mine, so I figured that was as good a place as any to start.
    â€œThat’s a very unusual dimple you have in your chin, Mr. Smith,” I said.
    â€œThank you,” he said as he buttered a roll and bit into it.
    â€œYou probably didn’t notice, but I have one almost exactly like it myself,” I said, thrusting my chin in his direction.
    â€œVery nice stew, Marie,” said Mr. Smith without looking at my chin.
    â€œSome people think that a chin dimple is the same thing as a cleft chin,” I continued, “but as you probably know, they’re not the same at all.” Mrs. Smith refilled Mr. Smith’s bowl and sat back down. This was a lot harder than I had anticipated. I couldn’t tell if they were actually listening, but I went on anyway. “You know, things like dimples are a genetic trait that can be passed down from one generation to the next. Like straightbrown hair. And left-handedness. It must be very hard for you to look at Bob-o with his curly red hair and his glasses and his unusual, um, unusual-ness and not to think, ’Wow, this kid practically doesn’t even look related to us at all, does he?”
    Mr. Smith put down his spoon and looked right at me. Holy cow, I could practically see the lightbulb going on over his head! This was it, and I was ahead of schedule. They weren’t supposed to figure it all out until Sunday, but here it was Friday night and the pieces were falling into place perfectly. I guess some things are just too obvious to go unnoticed.
    â€œMrs. Smith makes the best darned apple crisp in town, young man. Would you like to try some?” he said.
    That was it? Here I thought he was realizing that I was his long-lost son, but all he was doing was thinking about dessert? Surely Mrs. Smith was catching my drift. I turned to her and in desperation blurted out, “Didn’t it ever occur to you that when the nursebrought Bob-o and me in to you and my mom when you were sharing that room in the hospital that maybe by mistake she got us—”
    The phone rang before I could finish. Mr. Smith answered it in the kitchen and handed the phone to me. It was Buzz, and he was out of breath.
    â€œGuy, it’s Buzz,” he panted. “You’re not going to believe what’s going on at your house.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    â€œI t’s nuts over there, Guy, positively nuts!”
    â€œWhat’s happening?” I asked as I pulled the phone around the corner and into the hall closet so that Mr. and Mrs. Smith couldn’t overhear the conversation.
    â€œWell, for starters, your mother’s reinventing Bob-o.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œShe’s giving him a makeover. He looks completely different. His hair is all slicked back just like your dad’s, she’s dressed him up in a bunch of your clothes, and while I was watching she was working on hypnotizing him with a tape recorder and a soup spoon,” Buzz said.
    â€œGet out!”
    â€œGet in!” he shouted. “Pretty weird, huh?”
    â€œMy mother doesn’t know how to hypnotize anybody,” I said.
    â€œTell her that.”
    â€œWhat about my dad, what was he doing?”
    â€œWell, I couldn’t really tell because I was spying on them through the window and the stupid curtains kept blowing in my face, but I think he was in charge of the new hairdo.”
    â€œWas Bob-o really wearing my clothes?” I asked.
    â€œYep. You know, when his pants are long enough to cover his socks he looks a lot more normal,” Buzz said.
    A terrible thought suddenly occurred to me. “Was he putting anything in his pockets?” I asked. “Oh, man, if he puts tuna fish balls in my pockets I’m gonna