Read Online Notes From a Liar and Her Dog by Gennifer Choldenko - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gennifer Choldenko
Ads: Link
eyes and thick, thick hair that won’t stay inside the hair baubles Kate and Your Highness wear. My nose has a bump on it, which is another thing that really bugs my mom. I think she would sand it off if she could. Your Highness and Kate both have small freckled noses “the size of rosebuds,” my father says.
Sometimes my mom buys dresses that match for her and for us. They always have puffed sleeves and sashes and flocked flowers. I don’t like them. I like my flannel shorts or my brown plaid pants or my orange jumper with all the zippers.
When I was little, my mother used to dress me in Your Highness’s hand-me-downs. But now I’m taller than Your Highness, so my mom can’t do that anymore. This is good, because I’d rather drink pee than wear Your Highness Elizabeth’s clothes. My father says that Your Highness and I have normal “sibling rivalry” and it’s because we are only one year apart that there is a problem. But this is not true. Even if we were ten years apart, I would still hate Your Highness Elizabeth. The only way we’d get along is if she died before I was born. Even then, I wouldn’t want to wear her clothes.
Elizabeth never tries to be nice, but I think sometimes my supposed mother does. It’s just that she can’t. She sees a weed growing in the lawn and even if she’s dressed in her best black dress, she can’t stop herself from swooping down and snatching it out. And no matter what I do, I will always be a weed to her. I am all wrong. I set the table forks first. I keep my socks in my jeans drawer. I do the dishes sitting down. I eat in the bathtub. I read on the floor. I write notes on my hand or sometimes my leg. “This isn’t the way people do things,” she tells me, shaking her head, as if she is the keeper of the right ways to do everything.
It feels strange to squirt the lion’s cage down with water and not be told I am doing it wrong. I wait to hear those words. My back is stiff to brace against them, but Just Carol seems only to make encouraging noises. “Hey, that’s good, Ant. There, we got it. I think that’s it, my dear!” she says. And suddenly I feel as if I might cry.
We are done cleaning the cages now. Carol opens the door of a refrigerator that sits against the side wall of the lions’ night house. The refrigerator looks like ours at home, except there are no shelves inside. The only thing in it is an enormous piece of raw meat, which still looks like the cow it was. Just Carol saws off chunks with her knife. I feel queasy.
When she’s done, there is a plate of neat red meat cubes. We take the meat and the cutting board outside so we can finish the rest of our work in the sun-shine.We sit down on a bench in the shade of a big palm tree. I sit carefully so I don’t bump Pistachio.
When I’m settled, Just Carol shows me how to cut a small hole in the meat and hide a white pill inside. “The lions take medicine for lepto…leptospirosis,” she explains. “We put the pills inside the meat, then Mary-Judy feeds the meat squares to the lions on a long shish-kebab stick.”
“Oh,” I say, sticking one pill in a cube. I think I have it, then the pill pops out the other side and I have to dig another little hole for it. “So how come you work here every Saturday?” I ask as I pick the pill off the ground.
“Being around animals puts me in a good mood. It helps me keep things in perspective. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I wanted to be a vet.”
I look at her frizzy yellow hair and her bright green eyes. She looks younger today than she normally does. She doesn’t look like a teacher, either. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was an ordinary person.
“How come you didn’t become one?”
“Too hard,” she says.
“Really?” I’m amazed. Teachers never say things are too hard. Teachers make everything sound like it’s supposed to be easy. Like writing a ten-page history report is more fun than a day at the beach.
“I’m not
Sometimes my mom buys dresses that match for her and for us. They always have puffed sleeves and sashes and flocked flowers. I don’t like them. I like my flannel shorts or my brown plaid pants or my orange jumper with all the zippers.
When I was little, my mother used to dress me in Your Highness’s hand-me-downs. But now I’m taller than Your Highness, so my mom can’t do that anymore. This is good, because I’d rather drink pee than wear Your Highness Elizabeth’s clothes. My father says that Your Highness and I have normal “sibling rivalry” and it’s because we are only one year apart that there is a problem. But this is not true. Even if we were ten years apart, I would still hate Your Highness Elizabeth. The only way we’d get along is if she died before I was born. Even then, I wouldn’t want to wear her clothes.
Elizabeth never tries to be nice, but I think sometimes my supposed mother does. It’s just that she can’t. She sees a weed growing in the lawn and even if she’s dressed in her best black dress, she can’t stop herself from swooping down and snatching it out. And no matter what I do, I will always be a weed to her. I am all wrong. I set the table forks first. I keep my socks in my jeans drawer. I do the dishes sitting down. I eat in the bathtub. I read on the floor. I write notes on my hand or sometimes my leg. “This isn’t the way people do things,” she tells me, shaking her head, as if she is the keeper of the right ways to do everything.
It feels strange to squirt the lion’s cage down with water and not be told I am doing it wrong. I wait to hear those words. My back is stiff to brace against them, but Just Carol seems only to make encouraging noises. “Hey, that’s good, Ant. There, we got it. I think that’s it, my dear!” she says. And suddenly I feel as if I might cry.
We are done cleaning the cages now. Carol opens the door of a refrigerator that sits against the side wall of the lions’ night house. The refrigerator looks like ours at home, except there are no shelves inside. The only thing in it is an enormous piece of raw meat, which still looks like the cow it was. Just Carol saws off chunks with her knife. I feel queasy.
When she’s done, there is a plate of neat red meat cubes. We take the meat and the cutting board outside so we can finish the rest of our work in the sun-shine.We sit down on a bench in the shade of a big palm tree. I sit carefully so I don’t bump Pistachio.
When I’m settled, Just Carol shows me how to cut a small hole in the meat and hide a white pill inside. “The lions take medicine for lepto…leptospirosis,” she explains. “We put the pills inside the meat, then Mary-Judy feeds the meat squares to the lions on a long shish-kebab stick.”
“Oh,” I say, sticking one pill in a cube. I think I have it, then the pill pops out the other side and I have to dig another little hole for it. “So how come you work here every Saturday?” I ask as I pick the pill off the ground.
“Being around animals puts me in a good mood. It helps me keep things in perspective. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I wanted to be a vet.”
I look at her frizzy yellow hair and her bright green eyes. She looks younger today than she normally does. She doesn’t look like a teacher, either. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was an ordinary person.
“How come you didn’t become one?”
“Too hard,” she says.
“Really?” I’m amazed. Teachers never say things are too hard. Teachers make everything sound like it’s supposed to be easy. Like writing a ten-page history report is more fun than a day at the beach.
“I’m not
Similar Books
