Survival Strategies of the Almost Brave by Jen White Read Free Book Online

the one good thing about Antonio’s mom was that she let me come over and hold Spike even if Antonio was at soccer practice. And usually she had extra tamales, or empanadas, or a Coke for me. Antonio’s mom was a good cook.
    Usually Antonio was a decent friend. He liked animals, he lived close, and he didn’t always have to be talking. Being friends with him was better than having to be friends with Suzanne and the girls from my sixth grade class. All their talking and giggling and their liking-of-boys made me tired. Antonio was easy even if he wasn’t always nice. I just ignored the bad parts of him. Sometimes you have to do that with people.
    Julie turned away from Dad and shoved a Snickers bar into my hand. “It’s going to be fine. And if it’s not, you call.” She had chocolate on her front tooth.
    â€œOkay,” I whispered.
    Then I pulled Billie closer to me and squeezed her hand. I’d make sure everything would be perfect. I’d do it because I had to.
    We loaded our suitcase into the camper—Billie and me shared Mom’s big one. Then Dad showed us around. The camper was old, but it had a little fridge and a little shower and a big bed for Dad and a smaller one for Billie that folded right out of the cabinet above the kitchen table. And I would sleep on a bed that you could make out of couch cushions and the kitchen table. It was pretty smart. Maybe this living in a camper would be fun.
    That first day, Dad let us sit up front with him on the long bench, with seat belts that had fallen behind us like snake tongues. And Billie sat by Dad. And I sat by the window. We drove the longest I had ever driven in a car. Hours and hours. Dad said we were still in California, but I didn’t believe him until he showed me the map. California was big —filled with freeways and deserts and roads where you could drive for hours and still be in the same state. Soon, Julie was gone. And so was San Diego. And so was the ocean, with Mom in it.
    That day Dad didn’t talk a whole lot. But he tried, at first. “You look like your mom.”
    â€œI know,” I said. Because I did know. Everyone said that.
    â€œYour hair is the same color. And you have her forehead.”
    I nodded. Same brown hair. Same big forehead.
    He cleared his throat. “So, you doing okay? After everything…”
    I shrugged. “Yeah.”
    â€œI’m really sorry about Cindy,” he said. Cindy was my mom’s name.
    â€œYeah, I know,” I said. I felt uncomfortable talking about Mom, especially to him. “But we’re glad you’re here now.”
    Billie smiled to herself and hugged her koala.
    Dad smiled, too.
    There was a whole part of me that didn’t even believe Mom was dead yet. Or that this dad I had always hoped for was sitting next to me. Did he make chocolate chip pancakes? Was he going to tell us everything he knew about animals? Did he have a notebook just like me?
    Having Dad back was supposed to be like magic. Everything should feel normal, right? But it was just weird. I held on to my notebook because it was the only thing that felt real.
    â€œWhat is that?” he asked.
    â€œMy notebook,” I said, flattening it onto my lap. It felt safer there. “Just stuff I write. About animals and things I like.”
    Dad coughed. “You’re interested in animals?”
    I nodded.
    Billie stared.
    â€œNice,” said Dad.
    But that’s all he said. And I wanted to ask him questions, but they stuck in my throat like that time I had a fever and Mom gave me three Advil to swallow. The questions stuck and wouldn’t come out.
    Finally, after an hour or so, the silence began to bother me. Shouldn’t we be able to talk to him like we had talked to Mom? He was ours now, wasn’t he?
    I swallowed hard and said, “So, where have you been?”
    He cleared his throat and scrunched his lips together. “I’ve been