Read Online Prom by Laurie Halse Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Laurie Halse Anderson
Ads: Link
Mutt and caught the hot dog in his glove. But the play wasn’t over. “First base!” he hollered.
Steven, his nose in a book at the table, flopped open his glove. Shawn tossed the hot dog high, but Steven looked up in time, stretched, and snagged it before it smashed into the window screen. Mutt sprinted towards Steven, hit the brakes too late, and slid into the wall.
“Ouch,” Nat said.
“Look out!” shouted Dad. “Runner stealing home!”
Steven put his elbow on his book so he didn’t lose his place, picked up the hot dog with his right hand, and threw it back across the kitchen to Dad who caught it and handed it to Billy, standing on a chair next to him.
“We got ’im!” Dad said.
“We got ’im!” Billy squealed.
Mutt shook his head, turned once in a circle, and lay down.
I turned to Nat. “And you wonder why I want to move out?”
Dad reached in the pot. “Give your sister a glove, Shawn. Ash—go long.”
“Time out.” I teed up my hands. “Where’s Ma?”
“At Aunt Linny’s,” Steven said. “She won’t be home for hours.”
Billy waved his arms. “She won’t be home for hours!” His hot dog snapped in two, and the top piece fell to the floor. Mutt was on it in a flash.
“Time in!” Dad lobbed a dog at me. “Catch!”
Damn thing was hot. I bobbled it twice, then tossed it to Shawn, who flipped it to Steven, who took a bite out of it before he threw it at Billy. Billy caught it in both hands, stuck it in a smushed-up bun, laid down a line of mustard and offered it up to me. “Hungry?”
“What is going on here?” I asked.
“Softball game tonight,” Dad said. “Cabbies against the roofers.”
Shawn grinned. “Dad’s team is gonna get crushed. You coming to watch?”
“Can’t,” I said. “I have to work until ten.”
“Your loss,” Dad said. “Hot dog, Nat?”
“I’d love one, Mr. Hannigan.”
I shook my head. “Eat that at your own risk. It’ll take me two seconds to get changed.”
58.
My room was over the kitchen, so I could hear them babble. Dad asked Nat if there was any more news about our thieving Math teacher, and Nat filled him in. I had just pulled off my shirt when she explained how I was helping with the new prom.
“Shut up!” I grabbed my clothes and ran down the stairs. “Shuttin’ up, Nattie, for real!” I skidded into the kitchen pulling on a clean T-shirt. “You swore you wouldn’t say that word!”
“Is it true?” Dad asked. “You really going to the prom after all?”
I stepped into one leg of my jeans. “Read these lips: I am not going to the prom.”
“She’s just helping,” Nat explained.
Dad spread relish on a hot dog. “Helping? Like what, serving punch?”
Billy hit Steven’s arm. “Punch,” he said.
Steven took a bite out of Billy’s hot dog. “Bite.”
Billy leaned over to bite Steven. Dad grabbed Billy’s collar, pulled him off Steven and handed him another hot dog. Mutt sat up and whined and Dad tossed him a bun.
I pulled up my jeans and zipped them. “Nobody drinks punch anymore. I’m just helping with . . . what was it you said?”
“Organizational details,” Nat said.
“Yeah, that.”
“Cool,” Dad said. “You gonna need a limo? I know a guy down in Fishtown, he owes me, has classic cars and limos in his fleet. Your ma is going to flip about the dress. God knows that woman can shop. I suppose you’ll need shoes, too. The strappy kind you can dance in. Your mother loves those.”
“No dress. No shoes. I don’t dance.” I buckled my belt. “I am just helping. And get this—nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to tell Ma. If she finds out I’m helping with this dance—”
“It’s not a dance , it’s the prom ,” Nat said.
“—with this dance, she’ll flip. She’ll have such a fit about dresses and flowers and shoes and limos and food and hair and fifty million other stupid things that she will have her baby right here in the kitchen, in front of everybody. Trust me,
Steven, his nose in a book at the table, flopped open his glove. Shawn tossed the hot dog high, but Steven looked up in time, stretched, and snagged it before it smashed into the window screen. Mutt sprinted towards Steven, hit the brakes too late, and slid into the wall.
“Ouch,” Nat said.
“Look out!” shouted Dad. “Runner stealing home!”
Steven put his elbow on his book so he didn’t lose his place, picked up the hot dog with his right hand, and threw it back across the kitchen to Dad who caught it and handed it to Billy, standing on a chair next to him.
“We got ’im!” Dad said.
“We got ’im!” Billy squealed.
Mutt shook his head, turned once in a circle, and lay down.
I turned to Nat. “And you wonder why I want to move out?”
Dad reached in the pot. “Give your sister a glove, Shawn. Ash—go long.”
“Time out.” I teed up my hands. “Where’s Ma?”
“At Aunt Linny’s,” Steven said. “She won’t be home for hours.”
Billy waved his arms. “She won’t be home for hours!” His hot dog snapped in two, and the top piece fell to the floor. Mutt was on it in a flash.
“Time in!” Dad lobbed a dog at me. “Catch!”
Damn thing was hot. I bobbled it twice, then tossed it to Shawn, who flipped it to Steven, who took a bite out of it before he threw it at Billy. Billy caught it in both hands, stuck it in a smushed-up bun, laid down a line of mustard and offered it up to me. “Hungry?”
“What is going on here?” I asked.
“Softball game tonight,” Dad said. “Cabbies against the roofers.”
Shawn grinned. “Dad’s team is gonna get crushed. You coming to watch?”
“Can’t,” I said. “I have to work until ten.”
“Your loss,” Dad said. “Hot dog, Nat?”
“I’d love one, Mr. Hannigan.”
I shook my head. “Eat that at your own risk. It’ll take me two seconds to get changed.”
58.
My room was over the kitchen, so I could hear them babble. Dad asked Nat if there was any more news about our thieving Math teacher, and Nat filled him in. I had just pulled off my shirt when she explained how I was helping with the new prom.
“Shut up!” I grabbed my clothes and ran down the stairs. “Shuttin’ up, Nattie, for real!” I skidded into the kitchen pulling on a clean T-shirt. “You swore you wouldn’t say that word!”
“Is it true?” Dad asked. “You really going to the prom after all?”
I stepped into one leg of my jeans. “Read these lips: I am not going to the prom.”
“She’s just helping,” Nat explained.
Dad spread relish on a hot dog. “Helping? Like what, serving punch?”
Billy hit Steven’s arm. “Punch,” he said.
Steven took a bite out of Billy’s hot dog. “Bite.”
Billy leaned over to bite Steven. Dad grabbed Billy’s collar, pulled him off Steven and handed him another hot dog. Mutt sat up and whined and Dad tossed him a bun.
I pulled up my jeans and zipped them. “Nobody drinks punch anymore. I’m just helping with . . . what was it you said?”
“Organizational details,” Nat said.
“Yeah, that.”
“Cool,” Dad said. “You gonna need a limo? I know a guy down in Fishtown, he owes me, has classic cars and limos in his fleet. Your ma is going to flip about the dress. God knows that woman can shop. I suppose you’ll need shoes, too. The strappy kind you can dance in. Your mother loves those.”
“No dress. No shoes. I don’t dance.” I buckled my belt. “I am just helping. And get this—nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to tell Ma. If she finds out I’m helping with this dance—”
“It’s not a dance , it’s the prom ,” Nat said.
“—with this dance, she’ll flip. She’ll have such a fit about dresses and flowers and shoes and limos and food and hair and fifty million other stupid things that she will have her baby right here in the kitchen, in front of everybody. Trust me,
Similar Books
