Read Online Future Perfect by Jen Larsen - Free Book Online Page A

Toby and Annabelle Lee have joined the party.
    The doorknob rattles and then the knocking starts, louder than my heart.
    â€œNo,” I say, hunched over the bowl and resting my forehead on my arm.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” my brother says. His voice is muffled and loud, like he’s smooshed his face against the door. Soto makes her tiny happy yelp. “Aw, hi, honey. Hallo. You are such a good girl. What is this thing? This is a dog?”
    â€œMateo?” I say. My brothers are supposed to be at college. My stomach lurches.
    â€œBest surprise ever,” Mateo says. “Are you throwing up?”
    â€œYes,” I say.
    â€œDo you have bulimia?” he asks.
    â€œShut up, Mateo,” I say. Nausea is oozing through my body, up my throat, and I am trying not to let it out again. I swipe away the strands of hair that are sticking to my forehead.
    â€œAha, you do have bulimia!”
    â€œI don’t have bulimia, Mateo.”
    â€œOh okay,” he says. He sounds disappointed. “I’ve heard good things about it.”
    I grimace. “Why are you here?” I slump back against the wall and rub my eyes.
    â€œIt’s your birthday,” he says. “Surprise! Are you coming out of there? Clara wants you to come down for breakfast. Why are you throwing up again?”
    I cover my face with my hands. Maybe if I am quiet and it’s dark he’ll go away. But he’s like a tick, or my conscience. I scrub at my cheeks with the palms of my hands.
    â€œAre you really sick?” he says, and he sounds concerned this time. “Did you eat bad clams?”
    â€œI’ll be out in a second,” I say.
    â€œOkay,” he says. “Hurry up. Waffles!” He goes thumping down the hallway, Soto’s toenails clacking along behind him, andToby and Annabelle Lee scurrying to keep up. I can hear him shouting at Lucas, the shaking of the house as they all thunder downstairs.
    Both my brothers are here, then. Everyone is downstairs waiting for me. I drink a glass of water, tepid from the tap, and then refill it again and then one more time. I brush my teeth and wash my face and avoid looking in the mirror. Even through the bathroom door I can hear my brothers shouting over each other and pans clattering and chairs being dragged screaming across the old linoleum.
    When I appear at the kitchen door, Soto makes a happy circle and Toby yaps and races around the kitchen island. Annabelle Lee yips from the crook of Mateo’s arm. Lucas takes two long strides over from the center island and hauls me into a hug. “Ashley!” he says. He rocks back, lifting me just a tiny bit, and goes, “Oof!” and I push away. Soto circles around me and I scratch her head until she huffs and wanders off. Mateo’s sitting at the island with a plate of bacon in front of him, feeding strips into his face like he’s a wood chipper and ignoring Annabelle Lee’s tiny bark, which is vibrating her entire body. My father’s hair is sticking straight out from his head in all directions. He is practicing his pancake flips while my grandmother sips coffee out of a World’s Best Grandma mug, which the twins bought her for her birthday last year because they thought it was hilarious. It suits her the way a propeller hat would suit a Tibetan monk. She uses it only whenthey visit, and that’s because they take it out and put it in front of her. She is perfectly pulled together even though it’s not even nine in the morning. The rest of us look like animals who just crawled out of hibernation.
    â€œI thought we were having waffles,” I say, tightening the belt of my big fuzzy pink robe.
    â€œHappy birthday, kiddo!” my father says, glancing away from his pan. “Will you please shut that little thing up?” he says to Mateo.
    â€œDad thought waffles would be too messy,” Mateo says, his mouth full of bacon. He hauls Annabelle Lee up