Read Online Like Mandarin by Kirsten Hubbard - Free Book Online

Mandarin lived alone with her father, Solomon Ramey, a man who seemed to exist only in and around his bar—except for the time I saw him at the Sundrop Quik Stop. He was tall and gaunt, his face dreadfully unique: a beaky nose, yellow skin, thin black hair, a crumpled brow. Like some kind of bogeyman. When I tried to imagine him at home with Mandarin—the two of them drinking coffee at the table or eating canned chili in front of the TV in that dark house—the scenario seemed outrageous. Almost as outrageous as my helping Mandarin with her schoolwork.
    Mandarin’s mother had always been this shadowy, mysterious figure the town knew little about. Some people supposed she was an alcoholic. Others claimed she had a pain disorder. Physical or mental, they never specified. Still others assumed she was simply too poor to take care of her daughter.
    Nobody guessed Mandarin’s mother was dead .
    A dead father, like mine, was nothing shocking. In a town where every man owned at least two guns, hunting accidents happened frequently. Also mining accidents. And car wrecks, like the one Momma’s parents had been in, even though the county highways were wide and lonely. Washokey men always found ways to get themselves killed. Often explosively.
    Fathers, in a way, were expendable. Having a mother was the important thing, the thing that made you normal.
    Well, except in my case.
    Momma tapped Taffeta’s stomach with the back of her hand. “Can’t you suck in a bit more, baby?”
    “But then I can’t sing.”
    “At the pageant you’ll have to suck in and sing at the same time. You might as well start now.”
    Taffeta glanced at me. Then she sucked in her belly as best she could and attempted to squeeze out the notes.
    Without looking at me, Momma remarked, “So I heard you went to tutor the Ramey girl today.”
    I practically jumped. “From who?”
    “I’ve got my sources.”
    Polly Bunker . Alexis’s mom had spies everywhere, probably including Plains Street. Half the mothers in town were part of her coven of gossips.
    “I don’t like you going over there,” Momma said quietly, as if Taffeta couldn’t hear her. “That girl’s a tramp.”
    “I know that,” I said, hating the plaintive tone in my voice. “But she needs help in school. Ms. Ingle asked me to. It’s for my service project.”
    “I thought we decided you’d work backstage at Little Miss Washokey!”
    “ You decided that.”
    She shook her head. “That girl’s beyond help, Grace. The mother’s who-knows-where, and the father’s a drunkard. You know what they say about him.…” She lowered her voice even more and tipped her head toward mine. “About how when Mandarin was younger, he used to—”
    “Momma, I don’t want to hear it, all right! I know what they say!”
    “I just don’t want you getting mixed up with a girl like that. There’s no future for her but trouble. Believe me, I know! I know better than anybody. And the last thing you need is for people to associate you with her. They’ll look down on you, too.”
    She wound the thread into a knot and then snapped it off. “You can let go now.”
    In my bedroom, I slammed the door and fell face-first onto my mountain of pillows. They had been my grandmother’s, and they reeked of musk and age. I smashed my face into them so deeply I could hardly breathe.
    My mother was clueless. Didn’t she see? She was only making Mandarin seem better .

    Late that night I lay awake with a single white sheet pulled over my ear. It was warm out, and I had left my window open. The darkness chimed with the midnight music of crickets.
    Several minutes had gone by before the low hum rumbled into my consciousness. Distant at first, the sound grew louder and louder as it approached, until it came around the corner and surged into a roar. Smashing one hand over my nose, I kicked off my sheet, darted across the room, and slammed the window shut right as the mosquito truck lumbered down our alley. I could