Shining On by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online

credit card and putting
Winter Cookery: A Casserole Lover's Collection
down on the counter.
    “Here,” I said, laying
Telling Your Parents: A Teenager's Guide to Coming Out in the Family
straight down on top of it.
    “What's that?”
    “A book.”
    “What book?” she said, playing for time as if she couldn't read.
    “This book,” I said to her firmly. “This book here.”
    “Take it away, Gregory!” Her voice had shot up in the stratosphere. She was positively squeaking. And the poor girl at the pay desk didn't know where to look. (Would I have done it if it had been a bloke on duty that morning? Don't ask. I'll never know.)
    “I mean it, Gregory!” Her hand shot out. The book went sailing off the desk onto the floor. “I'm not buying that for you!”
    I felt so sorry for her. But still I picked it up again and put it down on top of
Winter Cookery.
    “
No, Gregory! No!” She swiped it off again.
    I picked it up. “Come on, Mum.”
    Snatching it from me, she hurled it on the table to the side of the till. “No!
No!”
    “Yes, Mum,” I said, picking it up a third time.
    “Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, God, Gregory!” She reached for the book, but this time the salesgirl dived forward at the same time, maybe to pitch in on my side, maybe to save the book from yet another battering. When their hands met, the book slid off again on to the floor, falling open at a section called “Telling the Grandparents.”
    “Oh, God!” she wailed. “I can't believe this is happening!” And I knew from the way it came out that the first of a thousand battles was over. Mum at least believed me.
    I've never felt so dreadful in my life. I wanted to say “I'm sorry,” but I was worried she'd misunderstand, and get me wrong about the way I feel. So I said nothing. I just stood there like a giant lump, watching my own mum crumple, thanks to me.
    Staff training at Readerama must be brilliant. Not only can the sales force read upside down, but they know what to do at sticky moments. Glancing at the name on Mum's card, the girl said gently, “Mrs. Fisher, would you like to come through to the back and sit down for a moment? I could make you some coffee.”
    Good thing it was my mum I'd dumped the news flash on, and not my dad. He'd have dissolved into a puddle of tears and sat there for a week, weeping into his coffee cup. Mum's made of sterner stuff. She's kept her chin up through some moments of high embarrassment while raising me, and though this must have been about the worst, she still proved equal to the strain.
    “That's very nice of you,” she said, pulling her coat straight and clutching her handbag closer. “Most kind and thoughtful. But I'll be all right.”
    The girl gave me a look, and pointed to one of those little stool things they use for getting to the upper shelves. I fetched it over. “At least sit down,” she said to Mum. “Just for a moment.”
    “Just while you ring up the books, then,” Mum said, collapsing.
    “Books,” not “book.” Did you notice? I did. So did the girl.
    “It won't take a moment,” she said. But then she made a point of taking her time, sliding the card through the machine the wrong way once or twice, and rooting under-neath the counter for a different-sized bag, to give my mum a few moments. She even came out from behind the pay desk with the slip, and brought it over for Mum to sign. Mum's hand was shaking, but the signature looked close enough to the one on the card.
    “There,” said the girl, managing to make it sound like “There, there …” and making me vow to never in my life buy any book in any shop on the planet but Readerama.
    Mum raised her head. “Well, Gregory. We can't stay here all day. Better get home.”
    And tell your dad, she might as well have added. But I wasn't quite so worried about that. Dad has a flaming temper, but in the end he always buys Mum's line on every-thing. He wasn't going to like it. Well, who would? Likeanyone else, he'd like his son