Read Online Peas and Carrots by Tanita S. Davis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tanita S. Davis
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You look nice.”
What the hell does that mean?
I give her the eye for a long moment, taking in her frizzy hair, T-shirt, and sweats. I wait for the clue that she’s messing with me—an eye roll, the curl of a lip. Instead, she just keeps staring. Weirded out, I mutter, “I didn’t think you were awake.”
Hope shrugs. “I had to use the bathroom.”
Oh,
now
she’s trying to start. I glance at Foster Lady. “She could’ve knocked.”
Foster Lady just looks at Hope.
Hope shrugs, her eyes widened. “I did. It’s okay. There are lots of bathrooms in this house. I used the other upstairs bath, then went outside and messed around with the weights while I went online.”
I blink at her arms. She doesn’t look buffed to me. “Weights? You?”
Hopeless looks embarrassed. She tries to roll one of the little balls across the floor toward me, but it stops before it gets more than a foot.
I pick it up. It’s soft and small, but the side of the ball has “2.2 lbs.” written on it.
“Huh.” I squeeze the ball in my hand and check out Hope’s long-sleeve T-shirt. The letters
H
and
W
wind together above a little white mountain range. A tree-looking blue squiggle below it is supposed to be water, I guess. “What’s that on your shirt supposed to be?”
“It’s just the school symbol. This is the PE uniform from last year.”
I give Foster Lady a look. “I have to wear a uniform—even at PE? Are you
kidding
me?”
“The upper school at Headwaters has free-dress Fridays,” Hope interrupts. “Anyway, you’re new, so nobody’s going to care if you’re not in uniform the first day. It’s not that bad, I swear.”
I shoot her a look, feeling panic thrum through my veins. “I am
not
wearing whatever crap outfit you’re wearing,” I blurt out. “Uh-uh. That’s not even legal. We
have
freedom of expression.”
Hope gives a twisted little grin. “I want to hear you tell that to our principal.”
“You think I’m playing? I
will.
How can you stand it, looking like everybody else?” It’s probably not that deep, but…uniforms? Seriously?
Foster Lady interrupts. “Girls, we haven’t got time for a uniform debate. Hope, get a move on to that shower. We don’t want to be late today. Dess, since you’re ready, go in the kitchen and check the oven. The timer is—”
“Oven?” Foster Lady is bent at the waist with her palms on the floor, her butt in the air, and her head down. “What’s wrong with the oven?”
A deep breath. “Would you go into the kitchen and check on the frittata? The timer should be going off pretty soon.”
Frittata?
I decide not to ask. “Fine.”
“You don’t need to take it out. Just look and see if it’s browned and turn the oven off.”
“Got it.”
“You don’t even need to open the oven. If it’s browned, Russell will take it out.”
I turn away, scoffing. “Lady, I can get a pan out of the oven.”
Jeez.
“Dess, don’t try lifting that hot skillet,” Foster Lady warns, her voice rising. “It’s cast iron, and it’s heavy.”
I walk faster. “Whatever.” Not that I signed on to do nobody’s cooking, but she must think I can’t do
anything.
As I near the kitchen, I can smell something tasty. I hear music, too, little beeps and blips that sound like a video game. On the floor in the middle of the hallway, Baby is playing with something that looks like a little TV.
“Hey, Baby!” I stand over him a moment, waiting for him to look up and throw his arms around me. He’s pushing buttons and arrows and making something—a little airplane? a car?—spin around and shoot little balls at a line of other little balls with numbers on them. “Tip-top!” a little voice exclaims as he shoots the red ball on his plane at another red ball.
“Tip-top!” Baby repeats.
I reach for him, then stop. Even little guys get pissed if you interrupt their games. Sighing, I glance up and realize Mr. Carter is sitting in a chair, smiling at me.
“Morning,
What the hell does that mean?
I give her the eye for a long moment, taking in her frizzy hair, T-shirt, and sweats. I wait for the clue that she’s messing with me—an eye roll, the curl of a lip. Instead, she just keeps staring. Weirded out, I mutter, “I didn’t think you were awake.”
Hope shrugs. “I had to use the bathroom.”
Oh,
now
she’s trying to start. I glance at Foster Lady. “She could’ve knocked.”
Foster Lady just looks at Hope.
Hope shrugs, her eyes widened. “I did. It’s okay. There are lots of bathrooms in this house. I used the other upstairs bath, then went outside and messed around with the weights while I went online.”
I blink at her arms. She doesn’t look buffed to me. “Weights? You?”
Hopeless looks embarrassed. She tries to roll one of the little balls across the floor toward me, but it stops before it gets more than a foot.
I pick it up. It’s soft and small, but the side of the ball has “2.2 lbs.” written on it.
“Huh.” I squeeze the ball in my hand and check out Hope’s long-sleeve T-shirt. The letters
H
and
W
wind together above a little white mountain range. A tree-looking blue squiggle below it is supposed to be water, I guess. “What’s that on your shirt supposed to be?”
“It’s just the school symbol. This is the PE uniform from last year.”
I give Foster Lady a look. “I have to wear a uniform—even at PE? Are you
kidding
me?”
“The upper school at Headwaters has free-dress Fridays,” Hope interrupts. “Anyway, you’re new, so nobody’s going to care if you’re not in uniform the first day. It’s not that bad, I swear.”
I shoot her a look, feeling panic thrum through my veins. “I am
not
wearing whatever crap outfit you’re wearing,” I blurt out. “Uh-uh. That’s not even legal. We
have
freedom of expression.”
Hope gives a twisted little grin. “I want to hear you tell that to our principal.”
“You think I’m playing? I
will.
How can you stand it, looking like everybody else?” It’s probably not that deep, but…uniforms? Seriously?
Foster Lady interrupts. “Girls, we haven’t got time for a uniform debate. Hope, get a move on to that shower. We don’t want to be late today. Dess, since you’re ready, go in the kitchen and check the oven. The timer is—”
“Oven?” Foster Lady is bent at the waist with her palms on the floor, her butt in the air, and her head down. “What’s wrong with the oven?”
A deep breath. “Would you go into the kitchen and check on the frittata? The timer should be going off pretty soon.”
Frittata?
I decide not to ask. “Fine.”
“You don’t need to take it out. Just look and see if it’s browned and turn the oven off.”
“Got it.”
“You don’t even need to open the oven. If it’s browned, Russell will take it out.”
I turn away, scoffing. “Lady, I can get a pan out of the oven.”
Jeez.
“Dess, don’t try lifting that hot skillet,” Foster Lady warns, her voice rising. “It’s cast iron, and it’s heavy.”
I walk faster. “Whatever.” Not that I signed on to do nobody’s cooking, but she must think I can’t do
anything.
As I near the kitchen, I can smell something tasty. I hear music, too, little beeps and blips that sound like a video game. On the floor in the middle of the hallway, Baby is playing with something that looks like a little TV.
“Hey, Baby!” I stand over him a moment, waiting for him to look up and throw his arms around me. He’s pushing buttons and arrows and making something—a little airplane? a car?—spin around and shoot little balls at a line of other little balls with numbers on them. “Tip-top!” a little voice exclaims as he shoots the red ball on his plane at another red ball.
“Tip-top!” Baby repeats.
I reach for him, then stop. Even little guys get pissed if you interrupt their games. Sighing, I glance up and realize Mr. Carter is sitting in a chair, smiling at me.
“Morning,
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