True To Form by Elizabeth Berg Read Free Book Online

Cynthia says, and I say, “Me, too,” to give support, even though I don’t hate her; I just think she’s pathetic.
    â€œYou know when you called and I was in a bad mood?”
    â€œYeah,” I say. I kind of want to ask which time, but that would only put her in a worse mood. It used to be that Cynthia was only goofy, but now she is moody.
    â€œWell, it’s because of something my mother is doing.”
    â€œWhat’s she doing?” I love when you ask a question and you know that no matter what the answer is, it will be delicious.
    She lies back on the floor, her autograph hound serving as her pillow. So far I am the only one to sign it. “Write big!” Cynthia said, and I did, but now I regret it, because every time I come in her room, there it is “Best wishes, Luff, Katie Nash!!!!” and that is all that’s on the dog, and the writing is not even good.
    Cynthia sighs. “I don’t know if I can say it. It’s so embarrassing.”
    Now I am on full alert like the dogs at the dinner table. “Tell me,” I say, and turn the radio up even louder.
    â€œShe is going to become a Girl Scout leader,” Cynthia says, “and I have to be in her troop.” She looks up at me quickly, then away.
    â€œOh, no.”
    â€œYes.”
    And I thought I was doomed for having to baby-sit for a summer job. “When?”
    â€œThe first meeting is next week. Here.”
    Cynthia opens her closet and digs around in the back, then pulls out a green dress and holds it out, which at first I don’t get, and then I realize it’s a Girl Scout uniform. “She’s going to sew patches on it,” Cynthia says, “and then I have to wear it. And that’s not all.” She goes to the closet again, and pulls out a beret.
    â€œOh, Cynthia,” I say. “We have to talk to her.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œWhy is she doing this?”
    â€œSo we can be closer.” Cynthia puts the dress and the beret back in the closet, shuts the door, and lies back down on the floor. Little tears are sprouting out of her eyes, and she brushes them away like she would like to murder them.
    â€œBut you’re too old,” I say.
    â€œShe doesn’t think so.”
    â€œI’ll help you. We’ll think of something.”
    Cynthia sits up. Already she feels better. All it takes sometimes is to know you are not alone.
    â€œMaybe we could . . . ,” I say, but then I fizzle out.
    â€œI don’t know if this would work, but we could—”
    â€œHold on!” I say, my hand held up in the air. “Listen!”
    â€œOkay, you jet-setters,” Fab Freddy is saying. “Listen up now, because what you just heard is true. We’ve selected a winner for our travel contest!”
    I want to hear who wins the contest that I also entered, and whether they spaz out on the phone like winners usually do, start screaming and say I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it. But right now a miracle has happened here in Cynthia’s bedroom, because I hear these words: “The winner is . . . Katie Nash. All right!Congratulations, Katie! You’ve got ninety-nine minutes to call in and claim your prize, baaaaaby!”
    â€œOh, my God,” I say, my hand over my mouth. I am freezing and boiling.
    Cynthia’s eyes are wide. “Does he mean you?” she asks. “Is it you?”
    I nod, and then get the terrible feeling that there is another Katie Nash, who is probably seventeen and saying, “Cool! I won!”
    â€œIt might be me,” I say, but now doubt is crowding in so bad, my mind is saying, “Now, wait a minute. Did you enter that contest?”
    And it’s stereo, because Cynthia is saying, “Did you enter that contest?”
    I nod, afraid to speak.
    â€œWell, then, call!” Cynthia says, and hands me her princess phone.
    â€œBut what if two Katie