The Art of Getting Stared At by Laura Langston Read Free Book Online Page A

and brown cable car clangs its way down the hill, a faint boxy outline in the morning fog. Inside, a harried server sprints past our table bearing a tray loaded with waffles and eggs. The gold and green tiffany lamp hanging over our table sways in her wake.
    Ella leans towards me. “I told you it would be okay.” Her blue eyes flick to the three adults who sit beside us.
    Mom, casual in jeans and a cream sweater, and Dad, preppy in beige chinos and a navy polo, are discussing Bay Area development. My stepmother, Kim, with her flawless makeup and smooth, blonde hair, sits quietly beside them. She’s wearing a metallic bronze cami, a faux fur vest, and leggings with thigh-high boots that lace up the back. She looks like she’s ready for a photo shoot.
    Ella gazes back at me. “You worry too much.”
    I squish a piece of icy mango between my teeth and resist the urge to scratch. Damn hat is making me itch. “You may be right.”
    Ella’s braces glint like pink tinsel when she grins. “Of course I’m right.”
    When Ella had suggested me and Mom come for her birthday breakfast, I’d discouraged her. I couldn’t take all three parents first thing in the morning. The negative undercurrents make me nuts. Mom and Kim tolerate each other because of me and Ella, but with only barely concealed hostility. So I told Ella I’d come but Mom wouldn’t. I reminded her that the two moms didn’t get along and it was probably better if my mom stayed home.
    I should have known better. Ella had told them both what I’d said and, predictably, both had discounted my concerns. Coming from a broken family is a pain in the ass when the people in question adopt an air of strained civility. I envy my friends whose divorced parents don’t talk. It’s a lot simpler.
    Ella’s grin widens. “I’m always right,” she adds.
    Exasperation is quickly followed by the complicated devotion I feel for my nine-year-old half-sister. Correction. Ten-year-old. This morning. “Except when you’re not,” I tease.
    She giggles and sips her pineapple juice. Ella thinks she’s right about most things, most days. I can’t fault her for it. We share an unfailing sense of self. I scratch my head. Along with blue eyes and the same father.
    Kim leans towards me. “Must you wear a hat at the table?” she asks quietly. “It’s rude.”
    Kim is all about appearances and always has been. The first time I had a sleepover after she and Dad were married, I came downstairs for a glass of water and overheard her telling a friend, Sloane is so plain I’m embarrassed to be seen with her sometimes . I tried, but the fallout from her mother wasn’t worth it . So plain. She’d said it years ago, but it still hurts. “I’m fine,” I say now.
    â€œMaybe, but the hat isn’t.” She openly appraises me. “And painter’s pants to a celebratory breakfast? Honestly, Sloane, I expect more from you.”
    Which is why I can’t stay with her and Dad.
    She leans back in her chair. “If you ever decide to make more of an effort with your appearance, I have some magazines you might want to look at.”
    Mom comes to my defence. “Sloane is fine. Some of us weren’t born with your sense of style, Kimberly .”
    Oh man. Breakfast isn’t even here and already the first Kimberly has been volleyed. How long will it be before Kim fires back with Barbie ? Determined to avoid any more conversational icebergs, I turn the attention back to my sister. “Wasn’t it great for Ella to invite us all for her birthday breakfast?”
    Mom picks up my cue. “It was!” She beams at Ella. “Thanks for inviting me, darling.”
    A flash of displeasure darkens Kim’s green eyes. She gives Mom a frosty smile. “We wouldn’t dream of leaving you out, Barbie .”
    Whoa, that was fast! But instead of