Read Online Define "Normal" by Julie Anne Peters - Free Book Online Page A

commanded myself. “They just went out to dinner.” I could hope.
    In my room, I stripped to my underwear and pulled on a skirt and sweater. Hastily I brushed my damp hair back into a ponytail.
    “Michael?” I called again on the way down, don’t ask me why. The house smelled funny. Like mold and garbage and cigarettes. I vowed, closing the front door behind me, that tomorrow I’d dedicate the day to housecleaning. If tomorrow ever came.
    “Is your father in design graphics?” Mr. Luther asked me. He and Mrs. Luther sat across the table from Jazz and me. “I know a Tony Dillon at Omega Arts.”

    “No, sir,” I said. “He’s a … a …” How could I say
roofer?
Mr. Luther was so dressed up, so elegant. So rich. I coughed and sipped my iced tea, stalling.
    Jazz yelled, “Hey, waiter dude. I need some ketchup.”
    Her father scowled at her.
    “What?”
    He sighed wearily. Thankfully it distracted him, and he sawed off a hunk of prime rib. It made my mouth water just to watch him chew. He smiled. I smiled.
    “Eat.” Jazz elbowed me. “Don’t let your lobster get cold.”
    I poked my fork into the lobster tail and tore off a chunk. Copying Jazz, I dipped it in the little cup of butter. The lobster melted in my mouth. “Mmmm …” My eyes closed involuntarily. It tasted so good.
    Jazz elbowed me again. I still felt guilty about ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, but it didn’t faze Jazz. She even got fries and a chocolate shake on the side.
    “Does your mother work?” Mrs. Luther asked.
    The lobster lodged in my throat. I nodded. “She’s a, uh …”—I swallowed—”image consultant.” I didn’t add, When she can get out of bed.
    “Really?” Mrs. Luther’s eyes lit up. “Does she do colors? I’ve been thinking about having my colors done again. Maybe I could ask your mother—”
    I coughed again. Jazz slapped me on the back. It dislodged the lobster, but not the fear. In a faint voice I replied, “She’s taking some time off right now. Until my little brother starts school.”
    “Geez,” Jazz grumbled. “Stop giving Tone the third degree, will ya? Let her eat.”
    I smiled up weakly, silently thanking Jazz.
    “It’s just that she’s such a pleasure to talk to,” Mrs. Luther said. “Laurent,” she addressed her husband, “do you know Antonia actually changed clothes for dinner? She said she wanted to dress appropriately.”
    I didn’t remember saying that. Maybe it was true. Or maybe I wanted an excuse to go inside and see if my family had been murdered.
    “You look very nice,” Mr. Luther said.
    My cheeks burned. “Thank you, sir.”
    “She has such nice manners. Doesn’t she have nice manners, Laurent? You could learn something from Antonia, Jazz.”
    Now I felt like crawling under the table.
    Jazz muttered, “I changed for dinner, too. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
    They both stared at her. Then, as if there’d been a temporary time warp, they turned to each other. “Constance acquired an original Howell for the gallery opening,” Mrs. Luther told her husband. “She’s extending the Native American exhibit through May.”
    Jazz smirked at me. Under her breath she said, “Don’t you just love them? Aren’t they just precious?”
    My house was still dark when we pulled up a little after nine. No one had answered the phone the several times I’d called from the restaurant, so I wasn’t surprised. “Maybe we should come in and wait with you,” Jazz’s mother said.
    “Oh, no.” No no no. “I’m sure they’ll be back any minute.” I tried to sound reassuring. To all of us.
    “Is there someone you could call to come stay with you?”
    “Mother,” Jazz sighed heavily “She’s not a baby. Believe it or not, most parents trust their children enough to leave them alone in the house for a few hours.”
    Mrs. Luther sighed heavily. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, Jazz. We don’t want you to be one of those horrible latchkey—” She