again.
Suzette doesn’t say anything right away, but she gives one of Alfie’s newest dolls a reluctant pat, as if telling it good-bye. “You can’t make me
like
Alfie,” she finally says. “You’re still not the boss of me.”
“I don’t want to be the boss of you,” I say, meaning it, except for where Alfie is concerned. “And I don’t care if you like her or not,” I add. “Just treat her fair, that’s all. Like any other kid. And leave the other girls alone if they want to play with her. I’ll hear about it if you don’t.”
“Go away, Alfie’s Brother,” Suzette says, sounding more tired than angry now. “I wanna go home.”
“You can go home when my mom says you can,” I inform her. “And no stealing any of Alfie’s dolls at the last minute, either, not to mention her jacket, or the deal is off. Tell Alfie you changed your mind about wanting anything.”
I can hear pink-sneakered footsteps THUDDING down the hall. “The cookies are ready,” Alfie tells us, screeching to a halt just outside her bedroom door. “Come and eat ’em while they’re still all warm and melty! With icy-cold milk!”
“You guys go ahead,” I tell Alfie and Suzette. “Mom will save me a few.”
“Suzette?” Alfie says, her voice turning soft with worry once more.
“Sure. I guess,” Suzette says, getting to her feet. “But they better be good.”
She sneaks me a questioning look when she says this last mean thing, but I just ignore her, turning away.
With some kids, I think mean is kind of a habit. Maybe they can’t stop it that fast.
“EllWay?” Alfie says, putting her little golden hand on my arm. “Are you all wight? Because—
chocolate chips
.”
Chocolate is Alfie’s favorite food group.
“I’m fine, Alfie,” I say. “I’ve just got some stuff I have to do.
Boy
stuff,” I add.
Like lying down flat on my bedroom floor while I try to recover from my dragon-slaying ordeal.
Man, that was
hard
. Every single bone in my body is aching, and I actually have a headache from threatening Suzette Monahan with a really mean lie.
But it was
so-o-o
worth it.
14
AN UNUSUALLY QUIET DINNER
“This smells funny,” Alfie says, poking at her grilled cheese sandwich.
“No, it doesn’t,” Mom informs her, sounding tired.
It is an unusually quiet dinner tonight. It’s the kind of dinner a family has after driving two hours to have lunch with relatives they barely know, because “family is important.” Or it’s what dinner would be like after taking your little sister to the emergency room after she fell off the slide at the park one afternoon, and then you had to sit in the waiting room for more than two hours with a bunch of scary-looking people, some of them bleeding, even. But your sister was fine.
Mom heated up a can of soup tonight and made grilled cheese sandwiches, that’s how worn out sheis. Usually, Saturday dinners are a big deal around here.
Chicken with mashed potatoes. Spaghetti and meatballs. That kind of thing.
But we have all had too much Suzette Monahan for this to be a regular night.
Some people are energy vampires, that’s what I think.
Alfie usually loves grilled cheese, but tonight she is eyeballing her sandwich like she suspects there’s something weird inside. Eggplant, maybe.
Dad is pretty quiet at dinner most of the time, apart from asking us about our best things and worst things of the day, one of our family customs. I guess he has a lot to think about, with all the rocks there are in this world.
But tonight, he left the dining room to take a phone call, even though usually, the rule is no phone calls during dinner.
As for me, I still have a headache from telling that lie. And what was the lie? It was
threatening
Suzette Monahan about the bed-wetting thing, because I wouldn’t really have told anyone. Who would be interested?
“It
does
smell funny,” Alfie insists, giving her sandwich another angry jab.
“Don’t eat it, then,” Mom says,
Suzette doesn’t say anything right away, but she gives one of Alfie’s newest dolls a reluctant pat, as if telling it good-bye. “You can’t make me
like
Alfie,” she finally says. “You’re still not the boss of me.”
“I don’t want to be the boss of you,” I say, meaning it, except for where Alfie is concerned. “And I don’t care if you like her or not,” I add. “Just treat her fair, that’s all. Like any other kid. And leave the other girls alone if they want to play with her. I’ll hear about it if you don’t.”
“Go away, Alfie’s Brother,” Suzette says, sounding more tired than angry now. “I wanna go home.”
“You can go home when my mom says you can,” I inform her. “And no stealing any of Alfie’s dolls at the last minute, either, not to mention her jacket, or the deal is off. Tell Alfie you changed your mind about wanting anything.”
I can hear pink-sneakered footsteps THUDDING down the hall. “The cookies are ready,” Alfie tells us, screeching to a halt just outside her bedroom door. “Come and eat ’em while they’re still all warm and melty! With icy-cold milk!”
“You guys go ahead,” I tell Alfie and Suzette. “Mom will save me a few.”
“Suzette?” Alfie says, her voice turning soft with worry once more.
“Sure. I guess,” Suzette says, getting to her feet. “But they better be good.”
She sneaks me a questioning look when she says this last mean thing, but I just ignore her, turning away.
With some kids, I think mean is kind of a habit. Maybe they can’t stop it that fast.
“EllWay?” Alfie says, putting her little golden hand on my arm. “Are you all wight? Because—
chocolate chips
.”
Chocolate is Alfie’s favorite food group.
“I’m fine, Alfie,” I say. “I’ve just got some stuff I have to do.
Boy
stuff,” I add.
Like lying down flat on my bedroom floor while I try to recover from my dragon-slaying ordeal.
Man, that was
hard
. Every single bone in my body is aching, and I actually have a headache from threatening Suzette Monahan with a really mean lie.
But it was
so-o-o
worth it.
14
AN UNUSUALLY QUIET DINNER
“This smells funny,” Alfie says, poking at her grilled cheese sandwich.
“No, it doesn’t,” Mom informs her, sounding tired.
It is an unusually quiet dinner tonight. It’s the kind of dinner a family has after driving two hours to have lunch with relatives they barely know, because “family is important.” Or it’s what dinner would be like after taking your little sister to the emergency room after she fell off the slide at the park one afternoon, and then you had to sit in the waiting room for more than two hours with a bunch of scary-looking people, some of them bleeding, even. But your sister was fine.
Mom heated up a can of soup tonight and made grilled cheese sandwiches, that’s how worn out sheis. Usually, Saturday dinners are a big deal around here.
Chicken with mashed potatoes. Spaghetti and meatballs. That kind of thing.
But we have all had too much Suzette Monahan for this to be a regular night.
Some people are energy vampires, that’s what I think.
Alfie usually loves grilled cheese, but tonight she is eyeballing her sandwich like she suspects there’s something weird inside. Eggplant, maybe.
Dad is pretty quiet at dinner most of the time, apart from asking us about our best things and worst things of the day, one of our family customs. I guess he has a lot to think about, with all the rocks there are in this world.
But tonight, he left the dining room to take a phone call, even though usually, the rule is no phone calls during dinner.
As for me, I still have a headache from telling that lie. And what was the lie? It was
threatening
Suzette Monahan about the bed-wetting thing, because I wouldn’t really have told anyone. Who would be interested?
“It
does
smell funny,” Alfie insists, giving her sandwich another angry jab.
“Don’t eat it, then,” Mom says,
Similar Books
