Seen Reading by Julie Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

sun-kissed nose, last week’s burn beginning to flake from her chest. He’s disturbed to think she might remind him a little of his baby sister.
    He flattens his part again and grabs her hand, turning it palm up. Pressing a point on her wrist, he tells her that he’s heard that if he keeps pressing she’ll go limp in just thirty seconds. She freezes, holding his gaze. Her knees start to buckle at the twenty-second mark. He’s not even doing anything, he thinks. But as the girl crumples to the sand, he drops her arm and pushes his hands into his pockets, looking to see if they’ve been spotted. It’s just a mind trick, he says to himself. He’s done nothing wrong.
    READER
    Caucasian female, early 20s, with short brown hair and hoop earrings, wearing long, dark overcoat and green scarf, book bag slung over shoulder.

    The Bell Jar
    Sylvia Plath
    (Faber and Faber, 1966)
    p 127

Reception
    Her job was to wait below while he climbed the tv antenna tower. Terry cloth shorts bunched between her chubby legs, she kept a lookout for adults, siblings, the school principal who lived next door, anyone with sense enough to call his parents. He would be quick. By his rules of the game, only once up and down constituted a closed case. Then they could retreat to the basement, where they would lie on the couch, “getting the girl” his reward for another mystery solved.
    READER
    Caucasian male, mid-30s, with full beard, wearing black dress pants, blue dress shirt, with sleeves rolled to elbows, and scuffed leather shoes.

    The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
    Michael Chabon
    (Picador, 2001)
    p 72

Like Mother, Like Son
    Mother: Look at your cousin Tess over at the crab dip. Girl looks like she could cry.
    Son: Gran choked on a strawberry seed, you know. She’s still in the washroom.
    Mother: How does someone choke on a strawberry seed?
    Son: Exactly. Don’t eat strawberries.
    Mother: Oh God, look. Tess is going for more dip.
    Son: She needs to master the dip. I hear it’s one of the steps.
    Mother: No, I think you have to call someone and tell them you love them.
    Son: Anyone?
    Mother: I really don’t understand how Gran can choke on something the size of a seed.
    Son: She likes the attention.
    Mother: Why is your father standing over by the hedges?
    Son: Why is your husband standing over by the hedges?
    Mother: Is he smoking? How old is that girl he’s with? Is that your second cousin?
    Son: Jocelyn? Janice? It’s “J” something. She’s really grown up. You should go get your husband.
    Mother: You should go get your father. People will talk.
    READER
    Caucasian female, mid-50s, with blond bob, wearing purple overcoat with poppy, carrying nylon thatched bag bearing a crest of an old leather golf bag.

    The Outstretched Shadow:
    The Obsidian Trilogy, Book One
    Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory
    (Tor Books, 2004)
    p 76

Glory, Glory
    In the church basement, the three young teens took a break from their puppet rehearsal, one song away from calling it a night. Despite the lingering smell of adhesive, one puppet’s moustache had fallen off, and another’s hair, brown yarn, required a touch-up.
    While the troupe’s leader went up to the chapel for glue, the teens’ minds turned to games, the basement equipped with a basketball court and hockey nets. They rummaged through storage and found gear: gym mats, hockey sticks, hard orange balls.
    As he was retreating to the closet in search of a Nerf football, she pulled the pastor’s son close. She wasn’t very popular. Her hair was short and greasy. She wore purple velvet knickers, a starched white blouse with frilly collar, and oversized leggings bunched at the ankles. However, the tetracycline had done wonders to her skin, and she’d always had pretty eyes. He, meanwhile, was a grade younger. The mole on his neck thumped as she leaned against him. His hair was parted firmly down the middle, cut