The Queen of Everything by Deb Caletti Read Free Book Online

was something worse. Bed, maybe.
    I set the bagpipes down. "Oh, I'm sure," I said
to what she was implying. Guilt was doing that creeping trick, starting at the
toes.
    "I don't understand you, Jordan," she said. I
followed her back to her room, where she plopped Boog down on the bed. He would
stay there, no doubt, until someone remembered to move him again. That dog was
doomed to be forever stuck where other people put him. "I mean, since, you know, Kale, you've been acting really weird. Is this going to change you? If it
is, I swear, you'd better tell me right now."
    "Nothing's going to change," I said. Which are
about the stupidest four words in the English language.
    "Fine," she said. She seemed reluctant
to
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    take her argument further. What did she think,
that I was about to dump her? Leave her behind with Chantay West as I went off
into the wide world of men?
    "I think your brother's totally strange," I
said.
    She looked relieved. "Kale probably likes you
because you're hard to get. And because you're in that gifted class
together."
    This was something that bugged her to no end,
my being in that class. "People don't realize," she always said, "that there are
school smarts and life smarts."
    "You know how much I hate that class," I said.
Which was a lie. I liked the class, but also I liked the idea of being in it. I
liked the word gifted. It sounded like I could sit down at a piano and
start to play, music flowing from my fingers. Truthfully, though, if you saw who
was in there, you'd wonder. That's the thing about stupid people and smart
people. Sometimes it can be hard to tell who is who. "I think Kale's parents
bribed the school to get him there," I said.
    "You are never going to keep him if you act so
flip all the time."
    I heard the rumble of the Beenes' garage door,
a car door slam, and then the scraping slide of the garbage-can bottom against
pavement. A moment later, Larry Beene's voice wafted up. "Swi-ing low, sweet
char-i-ot.
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    Coming for to carry me home! Swi-ing low
..."
    "He sings that whenever he does chores,"
Melissa said. "I swear, I'm the only normal one in this family."
    Sometimes I know when to keep my mouth
shut.
    "If your dad's home, I'd better go," I said,
after I was sure nothing else might pop out. "Grandma and Grandpa are coming
over for dinner."
    "Well, I want to hear everything." She
gave me a long look meant to be significant. "Not about your
grandparents."
    "I doubt there'll be much to tell," I
said.
    "Like I believe that," she said.
    Melissa followed me downstairs, leaving poor
Boog stranded on the bed.
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    Chapter Three
    I didn't go straight home.
    Instead I walked back out behind Melissa's
house and jogged toward Crow Valley. I wanted to see if I was right about my
father's car. Needing to know if you are right or not can be a bad thing. But
when I got out near the D'Angelo home, I could see that the car was gone.
Instead a black Porsche was parked there, and I saw a man, Mr. D'Angelo, I
guessed, walking down the drive toward the group of mailboxes by the
road.
    He had the shape that usually comes equipped
with certain extras--a booming voice and obnoxious opinions. A tall, big-chested
guy. Why those men are usually like that, I have no idea. It's not like the
world would overlook
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    them if they happened to be quiet and
thoughtful. Maybe all that space just needs to be filled with something, even if
it's hot air. Anyway, that's the way he looked. Big and
self-important.
    He went to his mailbox, pulled open the door
with a hooked finger, and fished out a fat lump of mail. He gave it a casual
look, a quick thumb-through, and a dismissal, which pretty well clinched the
fact that he had a lot of money. I've seen my mother open mail. It is a search
done while she holds her breath, that ends with a particularly good mood if
there are only pizza coupons and flyers for roof cleaning. I could tell Mr.
D'Angelo was someone not often