Read Online Freakboy by Kristin Elizabeth Clark - Free Book Online

worked a lot.
    Hotel maid in the morning,
    cleaning other people’s houses
    later in the day.
    I watched my cousins
    so she could quit paying
    the crabby lady across the hall
    to look in on ’em
    and it was all good
    till Rosa’s fiancé moved in.

Gonna Ignore Those Bad Manners
    â€™Cause Baby Jesus’s birthday
    is still the Most Wonderful
    Time of the Year.
    After I buy Frankie’s present
    (funkadelic PacSun sweatshirt)
    I do a little holiday shopping
    for the kids at the center.
    Yeah—I’m in school—
    part-time job,
    counting my pennies.
    But, Girl, I know how
    it feels to not get
    one single present
    at Christmas.
    Like the world forgot
    you because you
    weren’t what it
    was expecting.
    And I know

one lip gloss tube
 
if what you
isn’t gonna erase
 
really wanted
years of getting a
 
was just a
toy fire engine
 
baby doll
action figure
 
Barbie
football
 
tutu
plastic gun
 
manicure set.
    I’m all for what they call
    gender-neutral toys.
    Girls can like football
    boys can play with dollhouses
    and it doesn’t mean a thing.
    But when you know you’re a girl and
    you ONLY get boy toys
    (and not the yummy boy toys you can
    play with when you’re older)
    then Christmas is
    the Most Suckiest Time of the Year.
    So I fill
    my dollar-store bag
    with little presents:
    shiny bangles
    nail polish
    scented body lotion
    trial-sized Christmas cheer.
    For myself, three dollars’ worth
    of symphony carols
    plus a pair of red-sparkle tights.
    Just call me Miss Santa!

Back at the Center
    everyone’s checking out
    the artist-type hottie
    standing on a ladder
    painting letters on the
    window we replaced weeks ago.
    Willows has to pay for that—
    insurance only covered the glass itself.
    I pray again the asshole’ll get caught—
    a regular prayer on my list now.
    I start to feel like that Grinch
    and I hate it,
    so I snap myself out by asking a regular,
    Daniella, to help me wrap presents.
    I’ll leave some without cards
    for extra just in case
    but there’s a set of hair clips
    I know have to go to Liberty.
    They have hummingbirds,
    her totem I guess you’d say.
    Daniella cops an attitude.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â â€œWhy you give anything to
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â THAT skank? She pumps!”
    Some girls do.
    Not safe
    but hard sometimes
    to wait for hormones
    to kick in
    and even with their help,
    you usually wind up a cup size
    smaller than your mama—
    so if your mama
    had no tits to speak of,
    you won’t either.
    Not without surgery
    or pumping.
    Some girls
    think pumping
    is trashy—
    judge those who go
    to pumping parties,
    strip down in apartments
    or hotel rooms,
    let someone with
    no medical connection
    inject that silicone
    right into their
    chests, hips, lips.
    Dangerous, like I said.
    Lopsided tits sometimes
    aren’t the worst of it—
    silicone gets in your lymph nodes
    or lungs and shit.
    I hand the tape to Daniella. I usually try
    not to preach—but sometimes …
    â€œGirl? Don’t you know
    it’s the season of kindness?
    â€œYour tolerance would be the
    best present for everyone.
    â€œIncluding yourself.”
    She’s huffy, but quiet.
    Thinking, I hope.

Because Honestly
    is it trashy
    to want something so bad
    you go for it
    even if it might kill you?
    My opinion?
    It’s judging that’s trashy.
    Bad enough the world looks at us
    under a (distorted) microscope.
    Like the good Lord says,
    we don’t need to
    judge each other.

(BRENDAN)
    O
    Christmas Tree.
    â€œWake up! Up! Up! Up!”
    Courtney jumping on my bed.
    I open one eye (the only one I can).
    â€œGo away, squirt.” “Get up! We’re getting
    a tree!” Every year, even without Dad, Chase
    Family Tradition. Four-hour
    round-trip to kill a tree for Christ.
    We wear flannel