Saturday Boy by David Fleming Read Free Book Online

embracing?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThat’s like hugging, right?”
    â€œYes. Only more so.”
    So it
was
what I was thinking of. Great. Couldn’t Young Scrooge and his sister fist-bump or high-five instead? Couldn’t they just shake hands? What kind of weirdo hugged his sister, anyway? It didn’t seem right. Violet and all the others were looking at me, waiting for me to do something.
    â€œRight. Okay. Embracing. Got it.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œOf course! I love embracing things. I’m like a professional embracer.”
    Mr. Putnam’s eyebrow came down as the other one went up. I’d never seen that before. He stroked his beard and cracked his knuckles. There was a funny little grin on his face and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
    â€œSeriously,” I said. “I’ll embrace you right here.”
    He put up his hands.
    â€œEasy, tiger,” he said. “We hardly know each other.”
    Some of the middle schoolers laughed and Mr. Putnam was smiling and that’s how I knew it was okay and they weren’t being mean. He was just being funny. I sort of laughed a little then, too, even though I didn’t really get it. After the read-through this kid named Desmond asked Mr. Putnam when the next practice would be and he said, “Desi, me boy . . .
jocks
practice. But actors, oh . . . actors
rehearse
!”
    Mr. Putnam rolled the
r
the way Señora Cruz likes us to when we’re doing Spanish. I couldn’t do it right. Either I wouldn’t roll the
r
enough or I’d roll it too much and end up spitting on someone by accident. Don’t ask me how it happened but it did.
    The rehearsal ended and I walked with Violet out to the front of the school and we sat on a bench by the turnaround. Mr. Putnam had given us a script to share and Violet had her nose in it, reading scenes we weren’t even in. I’d also caught her paying attention during the read-through while I’d been trying unsuccessfully to solve her television problem.
    â€œSo what
do
you do?” I said.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œAbout not having a TV,” I said. “I mean, how does that even happen?”
    â€œMy parents don’t believe in it,” said Violet. “They say it rots your brain.”
    â€œNo way! That’s what
my
mom says!”
    â€œIs your mom a professor, too?”
    â€œNo, she’s a nurse. Wait—are
both
your parents professors?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo is it like school all the time?”
    â€œNo,” said Violet. “It’s just normal.”
    â€œWell, not
normal.
I mean, you don’t have a TV and TVs are pretty normal. Seriously, you can ask anybody.”
    A car pulled into the turnaround and the horn beeped twice.
    â€œThat’s my dad, Derek, I gotta go,” said Violet. “See you tomorrow.”
    Violet put the script in her book bag and stood up and walked to the car. She opened the door and got in. Before Violet could shut her door I shouted, “What do you do for fun? Flash cards?”
    Only I wasn’t teasing. I really wanted to know. Violet closed the door and waved as the car drove away. My mom’s car pulled into the turnaround a few minutes later. I opened the door and got in and put my book bag on the seat next to me and buckled up.
    â€œHi, Mom,” I said.
    Only it wasn’t Mom.
    â€œOh hey, Aunt Josie. Where’s Mom?”
    Aunt Josie looked at me in the rearview mirror. She was wearing her glasses with the black frames—her Clark Kent glasses as she called them. I’d put them on once to see how cool I looked but it was so blurry I could barely even see the mirror. Man, Aunt Josie was
blind.
    She started to say something but had to stop and clear her throat and start again. Her smile didn’t look right. It looked on purpose.
    â€œShe’s at home. She’s, um . . . not feeling