Read Online Blaze by Laurie Boyle Crompton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie Boyle Crompton
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lousy at the same time. As Mark leafs through my sketchbook, he gives appreciative “hmms” at my drawings until I can’t even picture what Ryan looks like. Not that I really want to, or honestly try all that hard. I just float in my blissful state of Mark really likes my sketches , until Josh interrupts us with an accusatory, “Hey guys !”
“So, you mind if I catch a ride with you Saturday?” Mark asks as Josh climbs into the seat next to me. Saturday? Did he not plan on speaking to me for the rest of the week? I know our schedules don’t exactly include a convenient bumping-into-each-other place, and we are keeping ‘us’ on the down-low, but with a little effort, I’m sure we could connect at some point before Saturday. And then I realize he’s probably just acting aloof to throw Josh off our scent.
“Sure,” I say casually while Josh eyes me suspiciously. Mark moves out of the way and I pull Superturd’s door shut. His face stays in the window for a moment, smiling at me, before he turns toward Stuart’s vintage “cuck,” which is what the girls and I call those half-car-half-trucks that guys in this town are in love with. I spot Stu making his way toward the parking lot, and Amanda is notably not with him. She told Terri and I that she fully planned to ride home with him today. “I’ll just tell my mom I missed the bus,” she said while applying mascara in the bathroom mirror before last period. I wonder if he even talked to her today. If he did, I doubt she let things end without knowing where she stood with him. The way I just did with Mark.
“Did I interrupt anything back there?” Josh gives me a hard look.
“Nope.” I keep my face blank as I pull out of the lot. “You didn’t interrupt a thing.”
“Did your grandmother call yet?” Mom asks as she walks through the door two hours earlier than usual. She’s been trying to work more regular hours since our little gamma-ray-blasted showdown, but that’s not why she’s home early today.
On top of Christmas and Easter, Mema Sissy usually calls the first day of every month, plus on our “name days.” Name days are the Catholic feast days for the saints we’re supposedly named after. Mema acts like they’re better than birthdays. Nevermind that my true namesake is a motorcycle-riding comic book superhero with a flaming skull for a head. Mema still calls me every February third for the feast of St. Blaise, some kooky dead monk who talked to animals and apparently healed people’s throats. As if my dad would name me after that guy.
Trust me, Mom didn’t pick “Josh” to commemorate some ancient holy guy either, but the phone still rings for him every September first so Mema can wish him a happy Feast of St. Joshua. He gets annoyed by her phone calls, but I figure at least she’s happy to do most of the talking. And besides, it’s better than driving in the car for four hours to Ohio to visit her in person. We used to drive to Ohio nearly once a month, but since Dad’s been gone we only go once a year. Our annual Let’s Listen to Mom and Mema Bash on Dad Extravaganza. This year’s visit is coming up soon, and I’m dreading it.
Mema is always insisting we should force Dad to drive us to her house the next time he visits. I always tell her we will, but I don’t want to get her ranting by pointing out that he never visits anymore. I will say it’s pretty convenient that she doesn’t realize I’m driving now, or she’d probably start pressuring me to come more often. I put enough miles on the minivan rushing around to Josh’s games without volunteering for an eight-hour round trip odyssey into Old Lady Land, where everybody’s named after saints and arguing with your little brother will get you doused with a bottle of holy water. (True story.)
They’re no longer in-laws, but Mom totally got Mema Sissy in the divorce. I think having his mother on her side makes Mom feel like she’s somehow winning the ongoing battle
“So, you mind if I catch a ride with you Saturday?” Mark asks as Josh climbs into the seat next to me. Saturday? Did he not plan on speaking to me for the rest of the week? I know our schedules don’t exactly include a convenient bumping-into-each-other place, and we are keeping ‘us’ on the down-low, but with a little effort, I’m sure we could connect at some point before Saturday. And then I realize he’s probably just acting aloof to throw Josh off our scent.
“Sure,” I say casually while Josh eyes me suspiciously. Mark moves out of the way and I pull Superturd’s door shut. His face stays in the window for a moment, smiling at me, before he turns toward Stuart’s vintage “cuck,” which is what the girls and I call those half-car-half-trucks that guys in this town are in love with. I spot Stu making his way toward the parking lot, and Amanda is notably not with him. She told Terri and I that she fully planned to ride home with him today. “I’ll just tell my mom I missed the bus,” she said while applying mascara in the bathroom mirror before last period. I wonder if he even talked to her today. If he did, I doubt she let things end without knowing where she stood with him. The way I just did with Mark.
“Did I interrupt anything back there?” Josh gives me a hard look.
“Nope.” I keep my face blank as I pull out of the lot. “You didn’t interrupt a thing.”
“Did your grandmother call yet?” Mom asks as she walks through the door two hours earlier than usual. She’s been trying to work more regular hours since our little gamma-ray-blasted showdown, but that’s not why she’s home early today.
On top of Christmas and Easter, Mema Sissy usually calls the first day of every month, plus on our “name days.” Name days are the Catholic feast days for the saints we’re supposedly named after. Mema acts like they’re better than birthdays. Nevermind that my true namesake is a motorcycle-riding comic book superhero with a flaming skull for a head. Mema still calls me every February third for the feast of St. Blaise, some kooky dead monk who talked to animals and apparently healed people’s throats. As if my dad would name me after that guy.
Trust me, Mom didn’t pick “Josh” to commemorate some ancient holy guy either, but the phone still rings for him every September first so Mema can wish him a happy Feast of St. Joshua. He gets annoyed by her phone calls, but I figure at least she’s happy to do most of the talking. And besides, it’s better than driving in the car for four hours to Ohio to visit her in person. We used to drive to Ohio nearly once a month, but since Dad’s been gone we only go once a year. Our annual Let’s Listen to Mom and Mema Bash on Dad Extravaganza. This year’s visit is coming up soon, and I’m dreading it.
Mema is always insisting we should force Dad to drive us to her house the next time he visits. I always tell her we will, but I don’t want to get her ranting by pointing out that he never visits anymore. I will say it’s pretty convenient that she doesn’t realize I’m driving now, or she’d probably start pressuring me to come more often. I put enough miles on the minivan rushing around to Josh’s games without volunteering for an eight-hour round trip odyssey into Old Lady Land, where everybody’s named after saints and arguing with your little brother will get you doused with a bottle of holy water. (True story.)
They’re no longer in-laws, but Mom totally got Mema Sissy in the divorce. I think having his mother on her side makes Mom feel like she’s somehow winning the ongoing battle
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