Stake That by Mari Mancusi Read Free Book Online Page B

go to bed and I Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    go back to writ-ing this new blog entry. It’s a bit hard to type, even now, what with my hands all trembly from the news.
    Dad. Coming here. For our birthday. A combination of dream come true and scary nightmare. I wonder what he’ll be like. If he’ll have gotten fat or bald. If he still has that ticklish spot behind his right ear. If his favorite food is still mac and cheese. If it’ll be like he never left or if it’ll be weird and awk-ward. Will he remember all our inside jokes? The stories he used to tell us?
    The storytelling is the best part about Dad. Sunny and I would curl up in my parents’ big king-size bed, each resting our heads on one of his shoulders. He’d spin fantastical tales. Fantasy, horror, comedy, adventure. Every night he’d have a different story, but the heroines were always the same. Two princesses, Sunshine and Rayne, who went about saving the world. Even when I got too old for those kinds of stories, I’d always beg for more.
    Back then Dad was my superhero. My idol. The person I wanted to be like when I grew up. He was so cool. And he understood me in a way that Mom and Sunny never could. Him and I used to sit out on the back porch on warm summer nights and have deep discussions about life, the universe, and everything. And then one day he left. Breaking my heart in the process.
    The shrinks tell Mom that’s why I am like I am today. Keeping myself at arm’s length from people, not trusting any-one to get close. Dressing rebelliously. Having seedy flings with boys I don’t care about and then walking out on them before they know what happened.
    The question is this: Could Dad be to blame for all of it or was I always destined to be a freak? Guess I’ll never know for sure.
    Wow. I can’t believe he’s actually coming next week.
    That he’s flying on a plane. Staying at a hotel.
    That he’s bringing birthday cake.
    Okay, I am officially freaking out.
     
    POSTED BY RAYNE MCDONALD @ 11 P.M.
    ONE COMMENT:
     
    Ashleigh says…
    That’s so kewl ur dad is coming 2 visit. I haven’t seen my dad in like 10 years, so I totally know the feeling.
     
    Anonymous says…
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    Ooh, little Raynie has Daddy issues. No wonder you’ve turned out ouch a LOSER.

COMMENT DELETED BY BLOG ADMINISTRATOR
     
9
     
    MONDAY, JUNE 4, 8 p.m.
     
    Black Is the New Black
     
    So want to hear the good news or the bad news? Oh, forget it. I hate when people ask that stupid ques-tion, anyway. It’s not like they really want you to choose. They’ve already got a preferred news-telling order in their heads. They’re just trying to prepare you for the shock/horror of the bad news which is ALWAYS in these cases worse than the good news. Examples:
     
    GOOD NEWS:You got an “A” on your history paper.
    BAD NEWS:You have to read it aloud in class.
    GOOD NEWS:The Arctic Monkeys are coming to town.
    BAD NEWS:It’s a twenty-one and up show and last week some bar confiscated your fake ID. GOOD NEWS:There’s a sale at Hot Topic.
    BAD NEWS:It’s only on candy-colored big pants rave gear, not that amazingly cool red velvet corset you’ve been eyeing.
     
    ANYWAY, my good news is that I did it. I went and dyed my hair black. This beautiful ebony color that’s so dark and rich it looks almost blue. Now no one will ever mistake me for Sunny in three billion years.
    Cheer!
    Bad news? Uh, Mom totally flipped when she saw it.
    “What did you do to yourself?” she cries when I walk out of the bathroom. (Yes, it was a
    “do-it-yourself” project—I’m not spending $100 at the hairdresser when they sell the stuff in the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    drugstore for $8.99.)
    “I dyed my hair black,” I reply, though I’m pretty sure it was a rhetorical question on her part. She grabs a chunk of hair,