Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume Read Free Book Online

by ten,” Mom said, forgetting about my nose, “unless we stop for ice cream … but by eleven at the latest.”
    “Okay.”
    She checked her watch. It was pink gold with a tiny ruby on each side of the face, a raised crystal and a narrow gold linked band. It belonged to my grandmother, who died fifteen years ago, right before I was born. Mom has had plenty of experience in dealing with death. Her father died when she was still in high school and her brother died when he was nineteen. So she named me Davis because there was no one else to carry on her family name.
    “Jason, will you please put something on,” Mom said again. She turned back to me. “Don’tstay out too late. I’d rather have you bring Hugh back here … it’s a lot safer than the beach.”
    As soon as Mom and Jason left I closed the door to my bedroom and as I got dressed I chatted with Minka.
    “What we have here, Minka,” I said, pulling on my favorite jeans, “is pure physical attraction. Physical Attrac-ti-on. You know what that means? It means it feels good to be near Hugh. Really good. When he holds my hand my insides flip over. Did you ever feel that way, Minka? Did some boy cat ever rub up against you and make you feel wonderful?”
    Minka, who had been bathing, looked up. I scratched her under her chin, then put on my new halter.
    “Well, don’t you worry,” I said. “It’s never too late.”
    Minka gave me a big yawn.
    I sprayed myself with Charlie , checked myself in the mirror, and ran downstairs, to the store, to wait for Hugh.
    My father was at his easel, working on a portrait. There were no customers. He had the radio turned in to WFLN, the classical music station.
    “Hi …” I said, helping myself to a peppermint candy from the glass bowl on the check-out counter. The sign on the bowl read, Help the Retarded. Two for a Quarter .
    My father opened the cash register, took out aquarter and dropped it into the bank behind the box.
    Then he looked at me. “Well, well, well … if it isn’t Davey Wexler …”
    “In the flesh,” I said.
    “So I see,” Dad said, eyeing my skimpy halter.
    I felt my cheeks turn red.
    I walked behind the counter to where Dad was sitting at his easel and looked over his shoulder. “Very nice …” I said. “Especially the eyes. I wish I could draw like you.”
    “You can do other things.”
    “Oh yeah … like what?”
    My father pretended to think that over. “You’re very good at stacking the bread,” he said.
    “Thanks a lot!”
    We both laughed. I hung my arms over his shoulders, from behind, and rested my face against his hair, which was soft and curly and smelled of salt water.
    “So, where are you off to?” Dad asked.
    “Oh … Hugh and I are going out.”
    “What time will you be back?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “An educated guess.”
    “Ten … eleven … something like that.”
    “Stay off the beach. It’s not safe at night.”
    “I’ve already had the lecture.”
    “I just don’t want you to get carried away and forget.”
    “I won’t. I promise.”
    “Well, I can’t ask for more than that.”
    Hugh came into the store then, wearing his Grateful Dead T-shirt and jeans. “Hi everybody,” he said. “Have you heard the one about the man who gave his cat a bath …”
    “Stop,” Dad said. “I’ve heard it two dozen times, from you.”
    Hugh walked up to the counter and took two mints, dropping a quarter into the bank.
    “Ready?” he asked me.
    “Ready. Bye, Dad. See you later.”
    “Bye,” Dad said. “Have a nice time. And don’t be too late.”
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Wexler,” Hugh said.
    Outside the sun was setting.

TWELVE
    Stop! I tell myself. Stop thinking about that night. Concentrate on how good it feels to be alive. No matter what. Just to see the color of the sky, to smell the pine trees, to meet a stranger in the canyon.
    I go to my room, tear a piece of paper from the yellow pad on my dresser and write one word. Alive .