Read Online Minerva Clark Gives Up the Ghost by Karen Karbo - Free Book Online Page B

him on his bike. He was the largest boy I knew, and he rode the smallest bike. Why? I wrung out the sponge and set it on the window ledge. Mrs. Dagnitz went insane when someone left a soggy sponge in the sink. Ned was sprawled on the kitchen floor by his water bowl, panting. I never realized corgis had such thick coats. I nudged him and he rolled over. I pet his tummy with my foot.
    My middle older brother, Quills, appeared from upstairs, his bass guitar case dangling from one hand. The case was long and black, sinister looking, as if it held a deadly weapon inside and not a musical instrument. Quills poked me in the side to see if he could get me to jump, then looked out the window as Kevin leaned his bike against a tree. Together, we watched as Kevin answered his cell.
    â€œDon’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said. “But if you do, don’t let Mom find out.”
    â€œCan you believe she changed her name to Dagnitz?” I said. “Deedee Dagnitz.”
    â€œYeah, well,” he said.
    â€œShe’s driving me totally insane,” I said. “Was she always this perky-weird, or is it all the yoga?”
    â€œThe yoga’s actually made her better,” said Quills. He’d put his case down and tore a spotty banana from the bunch on top of the fridge. “Where is she, anyway?”
    â€œThey went to a movie, then back to their hotel. But she will see me bright and early in the morning, so she can get in a full day of making me want to pluck out my own eyes.” I picked up the sponge from the window ledge and squeezed it again with all my might. If it had been a live sponge, I would have killed it.
    Quills left for band practice without saying when he would be back. Normally, he would have said when he was coming home—he would have left the time on a scrap of paper and stuck it under one of the plastic bug magnets on the fridge. Now that Mrs. Dagnitz was back, he acted as if he could do as he pleased, as if we didn’t need to know where he was going and when he would be back.
    From the computer room across the hall I could hear cartoon swords clashing, Mark Clark on his video game killing his pretend monsters.
    I snagged two Otter Pops from the big box in thefreezer and pretend ice-skated into the backyard, where Kevin sat on the picnic bench picking at a scab on his knee. It was twilight, the Purpley Time, as I used to call it when I was little. I brought him a red Otter Pop, rested it on his bare thigh. Red was his favorite flavor. Red was everyone’s favorite flavor. I hated to say this about Kevin, but he pretty much liked everything every other boy I knew liked. World of Warcraft. X-Men movies. McDonald’s Big Macs. Skechers. He’d told me he was taking Japanese next year, which I thought made him a brainiac nerd like Reggie, but it turned out that it was just because the teacher was supereasy. Was this bad? Considering he had the most killer deep-mountain-lake-blue eyes?
    Kevin tore the top of his Otter Pop open with his teeth. We started a debate about which Otter Pops were better, the red ones or the green ones. Otter Pops are just colored frozen sugar water in a plastic tube, but we compared flavors like we were world-famous creators of frozen confections.
    â€œGreen is far superior because it mingles the flavor of sugar, water, and green dye,” I said.
    â€œRed is the Otter Pop flavor of Nickelback,” said Kevin. “It’s pure bombdiggity goodness.”
    â€œGreen is a cool color, and makes you feel cooler when you eat it.”
    â€œRed is better because it just tastes better,” he said.
    â€œThat’s just your opinion,” I said. “You needevidence to back it up.” I sounded like my dad, Charlie, the lawyer.
    Kevin sucked on his Otter Pop and shrugged. I got the feeling it was too much trouble for him to think up an answer. He had come over straight after his manny job. Smears of chocolate stained