Saturday Boy by David Fleming Read Free Book Online Page A

well, sweetie, and she asked me to come get you. Cool?”
    â€œCan I ask you something?”
    â€œYou can ask me anything.”
    â€œIf you didn’t have a TV what would you do for fun?”
    â€œI don’t know. Paint, I guess. Cook? Why do you ask?”
    I told her about Violet and about how her parents were professors and how they didn’t have a TV.
    â€œDo you think Violet cooks?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know, Derek.”
    â€œI know she likes to read. What else do you think she does?”
    â€œI don’t know, Derek. I’ve never met her.”
    â€œMaybe she likes gardening.”
    â€œMaybe . . .”
    â€œYou think so?”
    â€œDude, I don’t know her.”
    â€œShe’s Violet. From my class.”
    â€œWanna listen to some music?” Aunt Josie said suddenly. “I’ve got some stuff in here you haven’t heard yet.”
    She selected a CD and a track number and turned it up before I could answer. I looked out the window and wondered if Violet liked punk rock because I sure didn’t. I tried not to listen and thought about who would win a fight between Hammerfist and Deathpunch instead.
    I considered all the variables—individual martial arts expertise, Deathpunch’s quickness versus Hammerfist’s strength and mutant healing factor—I even broke down their training, upbringing, and dojo affiliation. It went back and forth and there still wasn’t a clear winner by the time we got home.
    My mom wasn’t in the kitchen when we came in. She wasn’t in the living room, either. She was in her bedroom with the lights off, all curled up on the bed. Aunt Josie went and sat next to her. I heard her whisper my mom’s name a couple times and when she didn’t answer Aunt Josie pulled the quilt from the foot of the bed and tucked it in around her so she wouldn’t get cold. Then she came back out into the hallway and closed the door.
    â€œLooks like it’s just us for dinner,” she said. “You up for some Pizza Jungle? You can have whatever toppings you want.”
    â€œEven jalapeños?”
    Mom never let me get jalapeños because she said I wouldn’t like them and it would be wasteful, which, of course, made me want them even more. I kinda figured it was now or never.
    â€œ
Half
,” said Aunt Josie. “And I’ll throw in an order of cheesy breadsticks.”
    â€œExtra dipping sauce?”
    â€œDeal,” she said, handing me the phone. “But you have to call and order it.”
    I called Pizza Jungle and ordered a large, half-jalapeño, half-mushroom pizza and cheesy breadsticks with extra dipping sauce. Then I lay on the floor in the living room and did homework while Aunt Josie talked on the phone in the kitchen. When the guy from Pizza Jungle showed up she took the phone and left the room.
    Pizza Jungle was my favorite because the delivery guys wore these funny gorilla masks and they had monkeys driving the delivery vans in the commercials. The pizza was pretty good, too. I paid for dinner with money Aunt Josie had left on the kitchen table and then got plates and glasses off the drying rack by the sink and milk from the fridge.
    By the time Aunt Josie came to the table I’d already eaten most of the cheesy breadsticks and a slice of the jalapeño pizza. It was different from how I thought it would be. And not really in a good way. Aunt Josie sat down and picked up a slice of mushroom.
    â€œWanna try some jalapeño?”
    â€œWhy? Don’t you like it?” she said.
    â€œWhat? No, it’s great! It’s awesome!” I said. “Just . . . you should have some before I eat it all.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œDerek, I’m crashing on the pull-out couch tonight, cool?”
    Usually it was great when Aunt Josie stayed over because in the morning she would make this kind of