See You at Harry's(16)



“All will be well,” he says again. “Remember.”

“OK,” I say. I want to make him promise. “Thanks.”


“You’re welcome,” he answers quietly. “Good night.”

I try to stay up until I hear Holden come back in, but the next thing I know, Charlie is rapping on my door, telling me it’s time to get ready for school. I hear him run down the hall and do the same on everyone else’s door. If I did that, Sara and Holden would kill me.

Downstairs I start to eat a fake Pop-Tart. When my mom bought them, she insisted they would taste just like the “bad” kind. I start to chew and gag on the cardboard-tasting organic crust. I quickly grab Charlie’s juice cup and swallow it down.

“Noooooo, Fern!!” Charlie wails. “Mooommmmyyyy!”

By now I am in no mood to make things right, so I dump the cup in the sink and get him a new one just as my mom drags herself into the kitchen.

“What now?” she asks.

“Fern stole my juice!” Charlie cries.

“I was choking!” I say. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Oh, honestly, Fern. He is a baby.”

“He’s three!”

Charlie sniffs. “You not nice, Ferny.”

“Don’t call me Ferny,” I say. “I’m sick of it.”

“Fern,” my mom says, disgusted.

Charlie bangs his new cup on his high chair, which he is way too big for.

“Where’s Holden?” my mom asks.

“In the shower.” I go to the downstairs bathroom to brush my teeth. In our house, you have to have stuff like toothbrushes in both bathrooms in case one is occupied and you’re in a hurry. When I’m done, I leave the house without saying good-bye.

I wait alone at the end of the driveway. I try to kick a stone across the road but stub my toe on the pavement instead. I’m probably the only person in history to stub her toe on a flat surface.

The screen door slams up at the house. Holden walks toward me with his head tucked down, his hands in his pockets. When he reaches the end of the driveway, he kicks a pebble across.

“Don’t be mad at me,” I say.

He’s quiet.

“We weren’t talking about you in the way you think.”

“What way were you talking about me, then?”

“We were just . . .” I can’t figure out how to explain. He’s right. We were talking about him behind his back. And probably no way is a good way.

“Never mind,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs and goes to the side of the driveway to find more pebbles to kick. He sends one sailing across the pavement and into the grass on the other side. A dog in our neighbor’s yard barks and comes over, but he can’t get too close because of the invisible fence they put up. He eyes the spot where the stone landed and whimpers.

“Poor ol’ trapped thing,” Holden says.

He looks both ways and crosses the street, then finds a stick near a tree and throws it to the dog, who catches it perfectly. He drops it just at the edge of where the fence must be and wags his tail. “Sorry, bud. That’s all I have time for,” he says, and walks back over to me.

“So, how was the ride without me yesterday?” he asks.

“What do you think?”

“Same ol’ same ol’?”

“Not exactly.”

“No?”

“I punched Thing One in the face.”

His mouth drops open. “Thing One?”

“Yeah. That’s what I call those jerks who hassle you. I took your seat yesterday, and they said stuff to me I didn’t like. So, I punched one of them.”

“Are you crazy?”

I shrug.

“What’d they do after?”

“Nothing. Just gave me dirty looks.”

He shakes his head. “What about Trudy? She didn’t kick you off for belting one of her nephews?”

This time my mouth drops open. “Her nephews?”

“Yeah. Austin and Tyler McCready. She’s their aunt.”

The familiar squeal of brakes sounds in the distance.

“We can’t get on that bus,” I say. “No wonder she skipped our stop yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“She drove past our stop. She waited till she got all the way down the hill before she pulled over so I had to walk up.”

“She’s evil. You’re lucky she didn’t kick you off the bus forever.”

“That would have been great! Then we wouldn’t have to ride it anymore. Anyway, I bet she can’t because the video on the bus would show her nephews pinging my ears before I belted one of them.”

“They did what?”

“You know.” I ping the air to show him.

He looks up and down the road. “We gotta get out of here.”

“You can’t skip again. Mom and Dad will kill you.”

“Who said anything about skipping? We just need to find a different way to get to school. Come on.”

He runs back up the driveway, kind of hunched over, as if that will actually prevent anyone from seeing him. I follow.

By the side of the garage, we pant, catching our breath while the bus drives by.

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