Slick by Sara Cassidy Read Free Book Online Page A

afternoon.
    â€œWeeding?” Mom asks. “That’s not fun.”
    â€œI just spray stuff from a little bottle, so it’s not too hard,” Slick says.
    And my organic mother smiles at that! And later kisses him goodnight at the door, as usual.
    â€œHow can you kiss a guy who uses pesticides, Mom?” I ask while we wash dishes.
    â€œI respect Robert’s right to make his own choices.”
    â€œSure, like his right to spray pesticides?” I sputter. “Do people have a right to pollute?”
    â€œSweetie, it’s not that simple.” Mom sighs. “Sure, I wish he didn’t use pesticides, but I can’t just tell him to stop. He’s got to decide for himself.”
    â€œHe’s fake, fake, fake,” I rage. “He bought herb sachets from the boys. What does he need with a rosemary sachet? He’s trying to buy our love or something.” Silas and Leland have been selling homemade sachets to raise money for a pogo stick.
    â€œHe’s just trying to get to know you. And, guess what? The guy has sachets in all his clothes drawers.”
    â€œ Really ?” I ask.
    â€œYeah! Especially his lingerie drawer.” Mom winks. I have to laugh. “I want to show you something,” she says, firing up her laptop to YouTube.
    She shows me a video. An artist in Sweden has turned a set of stairs in a subway station into a giant piano. When someone steps on a stair, a note rings out. It is so fun, everyone starts using the stairs instead of the escalator beside it.
    â€œYou catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” Mom says. “People don’t listen to things that make them feel bad. They hear the people who make them laugh.”
    â€œLike the basketball hoop you put over the laundry basket,” I say. “Way more fun to shoot dirty socks through the hoop than drop them on the floor.”
    â€œYeah. Make it fun, make it easy, make it irresistible,” Mom chanted. “Rather than gripe, ‘Don’t Spray Pesticides,’ how about you sing, ‘Garden with Soul’?”
    â€œI get it,” I say. “Still, you have to speak up when something’s wrong. Ms. Catalla says if you don’t, you’re part of the problem.”
    â€œYou need to speak up, yes. But be patient, choose the right time. In the meantime, show by example.”
    â€œHow do you know all this, Mom?”
    â€œI’ve rocked the boat a little in my time,” she says. “But mostly I learned it by being a mother.”

Chapter Twelve
    Twenty-four girls—with twenty-four bikes—show up for Girls on Wheels. Luckily, Darryl has lots of tools. He’s funny and keeps us laughing. Tuning up our bikes is a breeze. We timed the workshop for the last Friday of the month, so afterward we head out for a “critical mass” ride. Every month, thousands of cyclists in over three hundred cities join up to pedal around town, filling the streets with a healthy vibe. This time, GRRR! is among them. Darryl leads.
    â€œPedal Power All the Way!” we yell. ”No emissions! No noise! No roadkill!” And, “Whose streets? Our streets!”
    It’s exhilarating! Plenty of cars honk—some to cheer us on, others to curse us.
    â€œWe’re traffic too!” we answer. It isn’t until we get to the Legislature grounds and stop to say our goodbyes that I realize how cold it is. December is around the corner.
    â€œThat was the best!” Olive exclaims.
    â€œYou’re positively rosy!” I tell her.
    â€œI want to do it again next month!” she cries.
    But as we ride home, she quiets. “My parents won’t like it,” she says. “They’ll say it’s dangerous, or too public.”
    â€œOlive, it’s a bike ride,” I say soothingly. “How can that be bad?”
    â€œYou’re right. Just a bike ride. That’s what I’ll say.”
    We stop at the