Takeoffs and Landings by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

omelette?”
    Chuck looked as startled as a bull hit with an electric prod.
    â€œI—I thought I’d just have bacon and eggs,” he said.
    â€œFine,” Mom said. “Lori?”
    â€œCereal,” Lori said.
    â€œAre you sure?” Mom said. “We’re going to be doing a lot of walking this morning. I don’t want you getting too hungry—”
    â€œPop says a fool and his money are soon parted,” Lori said self-righteously. She didn’t know what had gotten into her; she hadn’t meant to say that. She’d seen a movie once where a man was incapable of lying, and it got him into lots of trouble. She’d thought the movie was totally idiotic. But he’d been under a curse or something. What was Lori’s excuse?
    â€œPop isn’t—” Mom stopped. “Okay. Get whatever you want.” Now her face was redder than Lori’s. At least the waiter guy wasn’t lingering over them anymore, listening intently while he pretended not to.
    Another man came and took their orders. Mom asked for cereal, too. Lori wondered what that meant. She felt guilty and didn’t know why.
    Then the waiter went away, and the three of them were left alone with nothing to say. All of them kept taking sips of their water.
    â€œDo you think the science museum is a good idea?” Mom finally asked. “I’ve been there a couple times, and it’s really cool, but if there’s something else you’d like better—I have the guidebook. . . .”
    She was fumbling with her purse.
    â€œWhy don’t we skip the museum and just go shopping?” Lori said.
    â€œAll right,” Mom said evenly. “Is that okay with you, Chuck?”
    Chuck nodded like one of those toy dogs with a spring for a neck.
    â€œFine,” Mom said grimly. “I’m sure we’ll have fun.”
    At least Mom can still lie, Lori thought.

Chuck didn’t get Lori.
    Back home, she was Ms. Everything: honor roll student, high scorer on the freshman girls’ basketball team, secretary of the church youth group, president of their 4-H club, even though that title usually went to a junior or senior. And most of all, she always seemed to know the right thing to say. Or, at least, the most popular thing to say.
    Chuck knew how she and her friends talked, when it was just them and they didn’t think anyone else was listening: “Did you see Suzanne’s hair? I think she stuck her finger in an electric socket!” “Doesn’t Brad Knisley stink?” “Can you believe it? They changed the seating assignments in algebra, and I’m stuck with dogbreath right behind me!”
    But even then, Lori was usually the one saying,“Stop! That’s really nasty!” And in public—well, she might as well have a halo. Chuck remembered one time at school when he’d seen a girl crying at the back of the auditorium during an all-school assembly. He’d just stood there, wondering what to do. Did she need help? Or did she just want to be left alone? Chuck had decided to pretend not to see her, mainly because he didn’t know what else to do. But five minutes later, he’d looked back, and there was Lori with her arm around the girl’s shoulder, talking to her. The girl was nodding and even smiling a little through her tears.
    Later, walking down the lane from where the school bus dropped them off, Chuck had gotten up the nerve to ask what the girl had been crying about. Lori had just given him a look.
    â€œChuck, that was Janice Seaver,” Lori said.
    The name didn’t mean anything to Chuck.
    â€œYou know,” Lori said impatiently. “It was her brother who was killed in that crash yesterday. The one we were having the assembly for.”
    â€œOh,” Chuck said, feeling dumb as dirt. “I didn’t know.”
    And then Lori had run on ahead, because she had a lot of homework, and Chuck