Read Online Just Your Average Princess by Kristina Springer - Free Book Online Page A

barn for the rest of the afternoon, avoiding Milan. I read Dr. Seuss, Eric Carle, Shel Silverstein, and Kevin Henkes to the kids. And I do feel a bit better. You can’t be in too foul a mood after reading Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse three times. When it’s close to dinnertime I start walking toward the house and spot Milan talking to Danny, while he’s unhitching the hay wagon from his tractor. I stop and watch them, which is probably not the best idea in the world. But I’m dying to know what they’re talking about. Milan glances in my direction and then I see her point down at her feet and then point at the tractor. It looks like she’s wearing heels. Really, really high heels. Like the kind women only put on to pose for a picture in a magazine and not to actually walk in. When did she even put those on? She wasn’t wearing them in the face-painting booth. And who in her right mind wears heels to work in a pumpkin patch anyway? Danny shrugs and nods and next thing I know Milan is standing up on the back of his tractor, holding on to his shoulders. She smiles at me as they roll away.
    I feel like someone punched me in the gut.

 
    9
    I gently push open the front door of the house, trying not to let it creak and alert the family that I’m home.
    â€œJamie, is that you?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
    Darn it. Man, she’s got good ears. I fling the door open the rest of the way and step inside. “Yeah,” I say reluctantly.
    â€œGreat. Can you set the table for dinner, please?”
    I sigh. What, no “How was school today, Jamie? How did work go, Jamie? Anything new in your life, my dear sweet only child?” I trudge into the kitchen and fling open the cabinet door where the dishes are. I pull down four plates and reach for the silverware drawer with my free hand. Mom is rushing around the kitchen, pulling things out of drawers.
    â€œOh, hon,” Mom says, “grab an extra setting, would you? Milan invited a friend over for dinner.”
    â€œWhat? She did? Who?” I fire off. Oh my God. Not Danny, not Danny, not Danny, I chant in my head. Anyone but Danny. If I have to sit here and witness a family dinner date between Milan and Danny I’ll die.
    â€œThat nice girl Samantha from the Patch,” Mom says, wiping up a mess on the counter with a handful of paper towels.
    â€œSno-Cone Sammy?” I practically yell. My moment of enormous relief is quickly replaced by annoyance that I will soon be sitting across from one of Milan’s drones. One that doesn’t seem to exactly like me either.
    â€œWhat did you call her?” Mom says, pulling a loaf of homemade Italian bread from the oven and setting it on the counter to cool. She looks at me quizzically, waiting for an answer.
    I turn away, reaching up into the cabinet for another plate. “Um, nothing. I didn’t realize that Milan was having a friend over or I would have asked Sara to come too.”
    Mom crosses in front of me to the refrigerator and pulls out a couple of pears, a tub of crumbled Gorgonzola cheese, and a bottle of cranberry vinaigrette. “Another time, Jamie,” she says, not looking at me. She places the ingredients on the counter next to a couple of heads of romaine lettuce and a bag of walnuts, and pulls down a large salad bowl from one of the cabinets.
    I nod and start to leave the kitchen. Whatever is in the oven smells good. “What’s for dinner anyway?” I ask Mom.
    Mom’s face lights up. “A vegetable frittata,” she replies. “You’ll love it.”
    â€œOh.” I try to smile like this sounds like a good thing. I head for the dining room table and on the way out spot the empty white plastic bag on top of the garbage. Blech. More tofu.
    *   *   *
    I stare at the two empty seats across from me at the dinner table. Mom clears her throat for the second time and Dad is sitting with his arms