Read Online Armada by Ernest Cline - Free Book Online Page A

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    I secretly worried that one of the toughest things for my mother was the simple necessity of being forced to look at my face every day. I looked just like my father, and so far, the similarity had only seemed to increase as I got older. Now I was nearing the age he’d been at the time of his death, and I tried not to wonder how awful it must be for my mom to see her dead husband’s doppelganger smiling at her from across the breakfast table every morning. Part of me even wondered if that might be why she’d become such a workaholic the past few years.
    My mom had never played the part of the lonely widow—she went out dancing with her friends all the time, and I knew she dated occasionally, too. But she always seemed to end her relationships before they got serious. I’d never bothered to ask her why. The reason was obvious—she was still in love with my father, or least with the memory of him.
    In my younger years, I’d drawn a kind of perverse satisfaction from knowing how much she missed him, because it was proof my parents really had been in love, but now that I’d grown up a little, I was beginning to worry she might stay single forever. I didn’t like the idea of her living here all alone in this house after I graduated and moved out.
    â€œHi, Mom,” I said, speaking softly so as not to startle her.
    â€œOh hey, honey!” she said, muting the TV and sitting up slowly. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She pointed at her right cheek, and I dutifully went over and planted a kiss there. “Thank you!” she said, ruffling my hair. Then she patted the couch beside her and I sat down, pulling Muffit onto my lap. “How was your day, kiddo?” she asked.
    â€œNot too bad,” I said, punctuating the lie with a casual shrug to help sell it. “How was your day, Ma?”
    â€œOh, it was pretty good,” she replied, mimicking my voice—and my casual shrug.
    â€œGlad to hear it,” I said, even though I suspected she was fibbing, too. She spent her days taking care of cancer patients, many of them terminally ill. I wasn’t sure how she ever managed to have a good day at that job.
    â€œYou’re not working late tonight?” I asked. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
    She laughed at our old family joke. Everything was a Christmas miracle at our house, all year round.
    â€œI decided to take a night off.” She swung her feet off the couch and turned to face me. “You hungry, babe? Because I’m craving cinnamon French toast.” She stood up. “How about it, kid? Feel like having some breakfast-for-dinner with your mom?”
    Her question made my spider-sense tingle. My mom only offered to make me breakfast-for-dinner when she wanted to have a “serious talk” with me.
    â€œThanks, but I had pizza at work,” I said, inching backward. “I’m kinda stuffed.”
    She moved between me and the staircase, blocking my escape.
    â€œYou shall not pass!” she declared, stomping her foot down theatrically on the carpet.
    â€œYour vice principal called me a little while ago,” she said. “He told me you ditched math class early today—right after you tried to pick a fight with Douglas Knotcher.”
    I looked at her face and fought down a wave of anger, instead forcing myself to see how worried and upset she was, and how much she was trying to hide it.
    â€œI wasn’t trying to pick a fight, Mom,” I said. “He was tormenting this other kid who sits near me. He’s been bullying him for weeks. And I ran out of there because it was the only way to stop myself from tearing Knotcher’s head off. You should be proud of me.”
    She studied my face for a moment; then she sighed and kissed me on the cheek.
    â€œOkay, kiddo,” she said, hugging me. “I know it isn’t easy being stuck in that zoo. Just tough it out for a few more months and