Read Online Applewhites at Wit's End by Stephanie S. Tolan - Free Book Online Page B

jumped out. E.D. had never seen anyone like her. Except for her face, every square inch of visible skin was covered with brilliantly colored tattoos. There were horses with flowing manes and tails ridden by figures that could have been humans or spirits, warriors or elves. There were dragons and flowers and strange, calligraphic symbols. The woman was a walking art gallery.
    â€œOut, Harley!” the woman called. “I have to be in Asheville in time for setup.”
    This, E.D. realized, was Marlie Michaels, lead singer of Dragon’s Breath and mother of Harley Schobert, age twelve. The other door opened then, and Harley slid down from the passenger seat. He had medium long, medium brown hair and a medium face on a medium body. He was wearing blue running shorts, a plain white T-shirt, and sneakers. In a crowd of kids—any kids—this boy, E.D. thought, would completely disappear. Marlie Michaels and Harley Schobert, mother and son. It was as if a starling egg had been slipped into a bird of paradise nest by mistake.
    As Harley and his mother went up the porch steps to the registration table, E.D. heard another car on the driveway. This would be David Giacomo, she thought.
    A dark red sedan pulled up behind the van. The woman who emerged from the driver’s side—dark hair perfectly styled, wearing a yellow-and-white sundress and white, strappy sandals—was staring at Marlie Michaels with an expression of horror. E.D. wondered whether she might be at that very moment changing her mind about leaving her son at Eureka! That was to be the last rational thought that went through E.D.’s mind that afternoon. Because just then David Giacomo stepped out of the car.
    The photo he’d sent with his camp application had shown him to be good-looking. But this kid was not good-looking. This kid was—E.D. searched for a word that fit— awesome , that was it. Not the way her friend Melissa used it, for everything from a lipstick color to a hamburger, but for what the word really meant: “inspiring amazement and respect, combined with a feeling of personal powerlessness.” That was it exactly. His longish, wavy, blue-black hair framed a face with a straight nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and large, wide-set eyes—eyes that were startlingly blue. She had seen a face like that somewhere before, but where?
    David Giacomo was tall. He was slim. Ethereal. Absolutely awesome! There was a kind of glow around him—like an angel. Suddenly she knew where she had seen a face like this before: in the research for her spring semester paper on Renaissance art. David Giacomo was a Botticelli angel! E.D. felt like a little pile of iron filings, pulled inexorably toward a magnet.
    He was fourteen. But he looked older. She reminded herself to breathe. Then she hurried to the registration table, picked up a canvas bag and a water bottle, and took them to him. She was aware that the adults were talking, that David was answering a question. His voice was soft and smooth and resonant. She handed him the bag. As he took it, his long fingers brushed hers, and a tiny electrical shock traveled all the way down to her toes.
    â€œE.D.! E.D.! Your phone!”
    Her mother’s voice penetrated her consciousness, and E.D. became aware that the cell phone in her shorts pocket was playing Reveille—her father’s ring. “Excuse me,” she said. “I should take this.” A moment later she found herself behind the house, out of earshot, though she didn’t remember walking away from the porch.
    â€œDisaster!” her father yelled the moment she answered. She held the phone away from her ear. “Complete catastrophe! Quincy’s plane has been delayed. Some nonsense about an equipment malfunction. Do they expect me to believe there is only one plane they could possibly send here from Atlanta?” With the image of David Giacomo filling her mind, E.D. found herself listening to