Read Online Chasing Boys by Karen Tayleur - Free Book Online

store with a wave.
    “I think this is the wrong size,” I say loudly.
    When I get home, I call Margot’s cell phone. She picks up but can’t hear me because there’s too much noise in the background. She asks if I’m feeling better, then promises to call me over the weekend. There’s laughter in the background and she says she’s got to go. I hang up, wishing I’d never called.

30.
    I t’s Saturday and Mom is grocery shopping. Bella has planned to visit Dad and asks me for the third time whether I’d like to tag along. I’m sitting in the room that is our kitchen and dining and living room all in one, watching Saturday morning kids’ shows because I can. The couch I’m sitting on—way too big for this unit, but we can’t afford a new one—is littered with used tissues, the plate that my toast was on, and remote controls, because I can never figure out which is which. My pretend cold has taken on a life of its own. I’ve stemmed the dripping of my nose by shoving a tissue up each nostril.
    “No thanks,” I say, though it sounds like, “Dough tanks.”
    Bella taps her foot like I’m letting her down. I don’t know why she still bothers asking me. “Any message?” she asks finally.
    I shake my head and turn up the volume. A cartoon character has been sliced and diced then miraculously re-formed. I hear the door slam as Bella leaves. A minute later I’ve thought of a message for Dad so I drag myself off the couch, rush to the door, and poke my head outside. But Bella has gone. Instead I see Angelique slouching past.
    “Angelique?” I say.
    Her eyes meet mine for the briefest of split seconds, and then she is gone—disappearing up the side steps in a blur of red jacket. I go back inside and doze on the couch. When I wake, I wonder if I have dreamed the whole thing. This seems the most likely. That I have dreamed Angelique Mendez would be walking past my door in my grungy neighborhood on a Saturday morning when I have a temperature of a hundred gazillion.

31.
    B y the next afternoon my temperature is down to nearly normal. I have claimed the couch as mine, with pillows and my comforter, remote control, and tissues at hand. Bella is out with her friends and Mom is hanging wet clothes on a drying rack in front of the heater next to the TV.
    “Can’t you put them in the dryer?” I ask crossly.
    “The dryer died,” says Mom cheerfully. “This will save on the electricity bills.”
    “Great.” I collapse back against the pillows.
    “Can I get you anything before I go next door?”
    “Next door?” I ask.
    “Yes. Peggy needs a hand with her curtains.”
    “Peggy? Oh, Cat Lady.”
    “Peggy is a lovely lady. Show some respect,” snaps Mom, and somehow I’m happier with an angry Mom than a sad one.
    “Do we have any chicken noodle soup?” I ask.
    “We have cream of tomato,” says Mom.
    I shake my head. Then she rattles off a whole list of things we have, none of which I want. I shake my head again.
    “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m not really hungry.”
    Then someone knocks on the door before she can get going on her favorite medical topic—feed a cold and starve a fever.
    “That’s probably Peggy now,” says Mom.
    Imagine her surprise when she opens the door to find Dylan standing there.
    Imagine my surprise.
    “Is Ariel in?” he asks.
    Mom straightens slightly and whisks her chores apron off.
    “Yes,” she says. “Yes, she is. Come in. El!” she calls out as though I’m not just three steps away. Then she turns back to Dylan. “I’m sorry, you are . . . ?”
    “Dylan. Dylan Shepherd. I go to school with Ariel. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Marini.” Then he holds out his hand politely and I nearly die when they shake hands.
    The sight of him has set up a niggle in the empty cavern that is my brain.
    I am in my pajamas. The ones with the cute monkeys on them. The ones that say Good Night, Sleep Tight . I pull the comforter over me and hope he hasn’t seen me.
    “There’s a