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

reacting, Mom looks at Ella and says, “Why don’t you open your presents while we wait for breakfast?”
    â€œYes, yes!” Ella launches herself across the table and grabs a pale pink gift bag.
    Who would have guessed a child from Dad’s second marriage would pull us all together? It still amazes me.
    I was six when Ella was born. Back then, I spent every other weekend with Dad and Kim. By the time I was eleven, they’d leave her with me for a few hours while they went to a movie or out to dinner. One memorable Saturday night,Ella started throwing up and wouldn’t stop. When Dad didn’t answer his cell, I called Mom, who rushed over to help.
    She’d seen Ella before, during pickups and drop-offs, but only at arm’s length. That night Ella was a sick little girl. It turned out she’d eaten some tainted meat. Mom diagnosed and treated her, not leaving her side for the rest of the night.
    Dad and Kim were deeply grateful. But underneath Kim’s gratitude was a trickle of jealousy that rivered into something bigger. Not only was Kim jealous of the bond that formed between Ella and Mom, she was jealous of my mother’s career as a doctor, though she’d never admit it. Makeup artists save lives too, Kim has told me more than once.
    And that pretty much sums up the difference between the two women. One is substance and the other is style.
    I watch Ella open a gift certificate for a facial (from Kim, naturally), some CDs from Dad, and a quilted Vera Bradley purse in a garish fuchsia and turquoise paisley (also from Kim). “Like yours!” Ella squeals. “Now we can be twins!”
    Not likely. The purse Kim gave me for my birthday is way too flashy. I prefer the vintage leather satchel I found at the thrift shop last year.
    I hand Ella the navy blue gift bag with sparkly gold stars. “This is from me and Barbara.” I’d had to do a lot of wrangling to get Mom on board.
    Ella paws through the yellow tissue paper to the small box inside, a sliver of pink tongue poking out between her teeth. A fierce rush of love pierces me. She is beyond beautiful, this half-sister of mine. It used to bother me the way people stared. Not anymore. Better her than me.
    The box is upside down. Ella flips it over and sounds out the red letters. “V. I. R. G. I. N.” Giggling, she glances fromme to Mom. “Virgin?” Her voice is high-pitched and loud. “What kind of gift is a virgin ?”
    Snickers break out at the table beside us. “Lower your voice!” Kim snaps.
    â€œYou got me a virgin for my birthday?” Ella shrieks. “I thought a virgin was—you know—a person. Or is there another kind of virgin I don’t know about?”
    Mom is practically snorting with laughter. “Just open the box, Ella.”
    Ella removes the lid and gasps. “ A phone! My very own phone!” She shoves the orange rectangle into Dad’s face. “Look, Dad! My very, very, very own phone!”
    All around us, people are smiling. I hear a boy two tables over ask why he can’t get a phone.
    Ella waves it under my nose. “Look, Sloane, it’s orange . My favourite colour!”
    â€œI know, goofball. I picked it out.”
    Kim frowns. “Not smart, Sloane. Ella is too young for a phone.”
    Too young for a phone but old enough for a facial? Geez Louise.
    Mom tries to pacify her. “I hear you, Kim. Sloane had to work hard to convince me.”
    â€œLots of kids Ella’s age have phones,” I say before sipping my smoothie. Mom was right. This has disaster written all over it. If Kim takes the damn phone back, Ella will never forgive me. But if Ella keeps it, Kim’ll punish me for the next year. My head prickles. I resist the urge to scratch again.
    Kim leans across the table. “Cell phones contain radiation,” she whispers to Mom. “They’re dangerous.” My stepmother is obsessed with