Read Online Crenshaw by Katherine Applegate - Free Book Online

really long time.
    Robin was sitting at the kitchen table. Aretha was drooling, and Robin’s chin was gooey with syrup. “Daddy made my pancakes shaped like Rs. For Robin.”
    â€œDo you have a letter preference?” my dad asked me.
    He was using his cane, which meant he wasn’t feeling great. “You okay?” I asked.
    â€œThe cane?” He shrugged. “Just a little insurance policy.”
    I hugged him. “Plain old circle pancakes would be great,” I said. “Where’s Mom?”
    â€œPicked up an extra breakfast shift at Toast.”
    â€œDaddy sold the TV to Marisol,” Robin said. She jutted out her lower lip to make sure we knew she wasn’t happy.
    â€œMarisol?” I repeated.
    â€œI saw her dad while I was taking out the trash,” my dad said as he poured perfect circles of batter into a pan. “We were talking about the game today, and how his TV had conked out, and one thing led to another. He had the cash, I had the TV, and the rest is history.”
    â€œBut how are you and I going to watch the game?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re going to Best Buy it.”
    I grabbed a strip of bacon. “What’s that mean?”
    My dad adjusted the heat on the stove. “You’ll see. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
    â€œAretha liked watching Curious George ,” said Robin. She set down her plate and Aretha licked it clean.
    â€œYou may be interested to hear that Curious George began his existence as a character in a book,” said my dad as he flipped a pancake. “In any case, this family needs to spend more quality time together. You know—play cards, maybe. Or Monopoly.”
    â€œI like Chutes and Ladders,” said Robin.
    â€œMe too.” My dad tossed a little chunk of bacon to Aretha. “Too much TV rots your brain.”
    â€œYou love TV,” I said while I started loading the dishwasher.
    â€œThat’s because TV’s already rotted it. There’s still hope for you two.”
    It didn’t take long for my breakfast to be ready. “Nice work on the pancakes,” I said.
    â€œThanks. I do have a certain flair.” My dad pointed his spatula at me. “I saw Marisol when Carlos and I were carrying in the TV. She said to remind you about the Gouchers’ dachshunds.”
    â€œYeah, we’re walking them tomorrow.”
    â€œAre dachshunds wiener dogs?” Robin asked.
    â€œYes, ma’am.” My dad nodded. “You know, Jacks, I haven’t seen much of Dawan or Ryan or anybody else lately. What’s up with that?”
    â€œI dunno. Dawan and Ryan are doing soccer camp. Everybody does different stuff in the summer.”
    My dad put some dishes in the sink. His back was turned to me. “I’m really sorry about soccer camp, Jacks. Just couldn’t swing it.”
    â€œNo biggie,” I said quickly. “I’m kind of growing out of soccer.”
    â€œYeah,” my dad said softly. “That happens.”
    I stared at the sweet steam spinning from my pancakes. I tried hard not to think about Marisol watching our TV, feeling sorry for us while we played Chutes and Ladders and ate bran cereal out of a T-ball cap.
    Then I tried not to be annoyed at myself for worrying about something so unimportant.
    I grabbed my fork and knife and sliced up my pancakes.
    â€œWhoa,” said my dad. “Ease up, Zorro.”
    I looked up, confused. “Who’s Zorro?”
    â€œMasked guy. Good with swords.” My dad pointed to my plate. “You were getting a little carried away with the slice-and-dice action.”
    I looked down at my pancakes. It was true. I’d destroyed them pretty well. But that wasn’t what got my attention.
    In the middle of the plate, surrounded by maple-syrup mush, were slices of pancake, neatly forming eight letters: C - R - E - N - S - H - A - W .
    Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe not. In