Read Online Don't Vote for Me by Krista Van Dolzer - Free Book Online

and Nathan’s superhero sketches covered two of the other three. Abner had taken most of his stuff when he moved out of the house, but the CDs he hadn’t wanted—and a few of the ones he had—were sitting on the bookcase next to his old stereo. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I was me or bits of them, but since they were the coolest guys I knew, it didn’t bug me either way.
    I was so busy deciding how much juice to give the blender rocket if I wanted it to graze the ceiling that I didn’t notice her pull up (though I did catch a glimpse of her green messenger). I didn’t jump up to get the door even after the bell rang, so when Mom didn’t get it, either, I had to gallop down the stairs and hope she hadn’t walked away.
    â€œHey,” I said, panting. With any luck, she’d think that I’d just been working out.
    Veronica dipped her head. “Hello.”
    I squinted down the street. “How did you get here?” I replied. Jacob’s Way looked awfully quiet.
    â€œI took the bus,” she said. “You should give it a try sometime.”
    I made a face. “No, thanks. The school bus is bad enough. I’ve heard people actually pee on—”
    â€œDavid!” Mom cut in as she clapped me on the shoulder.
    I yelped despite myself. My shoulder was still sore from all of the congratulating.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Mom replied, bumping me out of the way. She smiled at Veronica. “Would you like to come in?”
    â€œYes, thank you,” she replied as she stepped across the threshold.
    Mom held out her hand. “You must be Veronica.”
    She shook Mom’s hand feebly. “And you must be Ms. Grainger.”
    â€œMrs. Grainger,” Mom replied. “I haven’t been Ms. Anything since I left the law firm years ago.”
    Veronica’s eyes bulged. “You’re a lawyer?”
    Mom shrugged. “Well, I was.”
    Veronica shook her head. She must have been wondering how a lawyer had given birth to a musician as miraculous as I was. I wanted to inform her that Mom was pretty cool (for a mom), but that would have compromised the little bits of reputation I’d managed to scrape together.
    I fiddled with my sleeve. “As much as I’d like to sit around and chat about my mom’s old lawyer days, we should probably get going.” The sooner we ran through “La Vie en rose,” the sooner Veronica could leave.
    Mom bowed with a flourish. “Shall I unbury the piano?”
    Veronica looked back and forth between us. “What do you mean, ‘unbury it’?”
    â€œOh, you know,” Mom said as she breezed into the piano room (which she and Dad had made by knocking out an inconvenient wall), “they do take up a lot of space. And when you don’t have someone playing them…”
    She trailed off when we reached it. It looked less like a piano and more like a sleeping monster with an old drape for a sheet. Stacks of cookbooks, piles of junk mail, and one of Dad’s old Phillips screwdrivers rested on every flat surface, and the dust was thick enough that it resembled dingy snow.
    Mom sighed dramatically as she retrieved a stack of cookbooks. “I keep trying to get David to take up the piano, too, but he won’t listen to reason.”
    I crinkled my nose. “Abner’s our piano man.”
    â€œWell, who said a family couldn’t have more than one?” Mom asked as she tugged off the dusty drape and unearthed the shiny Steinway. She surveyed it with pursed lips. “I hope it isn’t out of tune.”
    Veronica tested middle C. It only sounded slightly earsplitting. “It’s lovely,” she replied.
    â€œNo, it’s horrible,” I said as I unlatched my trumpet case. “Let’s just get this over with.”
    Mom tugged my ear. “Be nice. This young lady is your guest.”
    â€œNo,” I said, “she’s my