These Gentle Wounds by Helene Dunbar Read Free Book Online

used on my birthday cake last year had some sort of super pop rocks in it and Jim made him throw it out before I even tried it.
    â€œBoil that with water,” he says.
    I get out a pot, fill it, and drop the powder in. I wonder if Kevin thinks this is going to distract me from everything that’s going on. He should know better. But it isn’t even mainly the stuff with Jim and my father that’s preying on my mind right now. There are other thoughts I’m having a hard time shaking off too, and no amount of weird science is going to clear them out of my head.
    I sit and watch the pot, waiting for it to boil, while Kevin pulls a sieve and a handheld blender out of the cupboard.
    â€œHow come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask. I’ve wondered about this for a while now. I mean, Kevin is seventeen. Even if he isn’t a brainiac, he works hard in school. He doesn’t even get detention as much as he used to. He’s got the whole bizarre cooking thing going. He has friends.
    Also, I’ve heard girls whispering in the halls about him. They stare as he walks by, then laugh. But I don’t think they’re laughing at him. Sometimes I think they’re trying to get his attention. They don’t realize all the other stuff that’s in his head, like trying to make sure I don’t go over the edge and controlling his temper. I wonder if he could have a normal life if it weren’t for me.
    Kevin puts everything on the table and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. “Why? You know someone?”
    â€œJust wondering.”
    â€œWell … ” I hear the pause in his voice as he chooses an answer. “First off, none of our parents made relationships look very attractive. I mean, what if all girls turn out to be like Mom?”
    People tell me I should be angry at Mom for what she did, but I’m not. Instead, thinking of her makes me feel empty deep inside, like an important part of me has been removed.
    â€œSo you’re gay?” I ask, wondering why we’ve never talked about it before.
    â€œNo.” He pours in the peas and turns the blender up to high. It’s so noisy I have to wait until he’s done to ask anything else.
    â€œSo what then?” I ask as soon as he hits the off switch.
    â€œCrap, Ice. It’s not like I really have time. Between school and … you … I mean … ” He doesn’t finish.
    â€œWell, you have all the time when I’m at practice or a game,” I say.
    He stares at me. “I don’t think it works that way. Not many girls are going to be into a relationship scheduled during my brother’s hockey games.”
    I guess that’s something else I should hate, that he’s given up so much for me. But I don’t. It’s just the way it is. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
    I pull the boiling pot off the stove and Kevin shoves another pot, filled with ice, underneath it.
    â€œWhat about you?” he asks.
    The bubbles explode on the surface of the water. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. “What do you mean, ‘what about me?’” I answer, distracted.
    â€œEver thought about getting yourself a girlfriend?”
    His question freezes my brain like when you eat ice cream too quickly. He’s got to be joking. I mean, really? If he’s using Mom as a reason not to let any girl get close, what the hell does he think is going through my head?
    â€œYou’re out of your mind,” I say.
    â€œMaybe you should. Maybe it’s just what you need.” Then he gives me that know-it-all look that makes me wonder if he’s heard me getting off in the middle of the night. “Maybe that’s why you’re asking me.”
    My stomach twists at the direction the conversation is going and suddenly the kitchen is way too small for us and this vat of green gloop. I look at the door, wondering how pissed he’d be if I just left. I wonder how