Read Online As Simple as It Seems by Sarah Weeks - Free Book Online

shivered. It was one thing to make up stories about ghosts having tea parties and walking through walls, but I didn’t want to have to think about how Tracy Allen must have felt when she drowned, or the last thing she saw before she died.
    â€œAren’t you hot in those clothes?” I asked, changing the subject.
    â€œYeah, but I have to keep covered up because I burn easily,” Pooch explained.
    â€œEver heard of sunscreen?” I asked.
    â€œI’m allergic to PABA.”
    â€œWhat’s PABA?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” he said. “But whatever it is, I’m allergic to it.”
    He wasn’t exactly what I had expected. There was something sad about him, standing there talking about his allergies with the end of his necktie hanging out of his pocket like a little red tail.
    â€œWhere’d you get that nickname of yours, anyway?” I asked.
    Pooch lifted his foot and used the toe of his shoe to scratch the back of his leg.
    â€œRichard the Third came up with it.”
    â€œRichard the Third?”
    â€œMy mom had three boyfriends in a row named Richard,” Pooch explained.
    I must have looked surprised, because he added, “My parents got divorced a long time ago. My mom does internet dating.”
    â€œOh,” I said, having a hard time imagining what it would feel like to have a mom who went out on dates with someone other than your dad.
    Pooch bent down and scratched his knee.
    â€œYou sure are itchy,” I said. “You got bug bites or something?”
    Pooch shook his head.
    â€œEczema. It gets worse when I’m nervous.”
    â€œAm I making you nervous?” I asked.
    â€œNo, no,” he said quickly, but then he blushed. “Well, maybe a little.”
    We were both quiet for a minute.
    â€œAnyway, I got the name on account of the scratching,” Pooch told me. “Richard the Third said I looked like a dog with fleas. He started calling me Pooch and it stuck. I have some lotion at home that helps, but I forgot to bring it.”
    There was another silence between us. Pooch slipped his hands into his front pockets and began to jigglethem. To my surprise, the air suddenly filled with a familiar tinkling sound.
    â€œOh,” I said, “so that was you before. What have you got in there?”

CHAPTER TEN
Ting-a-Ling-a-Jingle
    â€œBottles,” answered Pooch, giving his pockets another jiggle.
    â€œWhat kind of bottles?”
    â€œLittle ones,” he said. “They used to have booze in them, but they don’t anymore.”
    My parents didn’t drink, not even beer, and they didn’t smoke either. Now that I understood the damage that Grace’s drinking had done to me, I was even more aware of what an evil thing alcohol could be.
    â€œDo you drink booze?” I asked warily.
    â€œOf course not!” He laughed. “Our next-door neighbor in the city is a flight attendant. She brings me empty bottles sometimes because she knows I like to collect stuff.”
    I felt a glimmer of hope inside. Was it possiblethis flatlander boy and I actually had something in common?
    â€œWhat do you like to collect?” I asked.
    Pooch reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear glass bottle with a red metal screw top. The label had been scratched off so it was easy to see inside.
    â€œCheck out this gold bug,” he said handing me the bottle. “Did you know that if you paint yourself gold, your skin won’t be able to breathe and you’ll suffocate to death? I saw that in a movie once.”
    I peered in at the insect crawling around on the bottom of Pooch’s bottle. I knew what it was because my mother waged a daily war against them during the summer, carrying a table knife and a cup of soapy water out to her garden so she could knock them off of the bushes into the cup and drown them.
    â€œThat’s a Japanese beetle,” I said.
    â€œJapanese, huh? Are they rare?”