Read Online Roadside Assistance by Amy Clipston - Free Book Online

here until we can get our own place.”
    “That’s cool.” Chelsea gave a sad smile, opening the driver’s side door again. “I guess I better run. I’ll see you Monday.”
    “Thanks again for the ride,” I said.
    “You’re welcome.” She fastened her seat belt and started the car. “You have my number. Feel free to call me.”
    “Okay.” I stood in the driveway and watched her drive off, wondering if she was hurt to find out the truth about where I lived, and how I hid it from her.

    I was still pondering Chelsea’s expression Saturday night while I sat up in my room and stared down at her phone number, written on the small piece of paper she’d given me at lunch Friday.
    Screeches and splashes sounded outside, and I sank onto the window seat and opened the window. The strong aroma of chlorine wafted up from below, where several girls clad in string bikinis lounged around the pool, chatting and giggling with tanned and athletic guys in swim trunks. Whitney sat dangling her feet in the water while Chad pulled her close and kissed her.
    I fingered Chelsea’s number and glanced toward the cordless phone at the other end of the room. I knew I should call her, apologize for not being up front with her, and invite her to the pool party. But the truth was that the idea of parading in a bathing suit in front of Whitney and her friends scared me to death.
    Conflicted, I opened up my journal and began to write:
    Saturday, August 27
    Dear Mom,
    I need you more than ever right now. I’ve really made a mess of things since I came here. I’m afraid I’ve really hurt my new friend, and I need to find the strength to reach out to her and apologize. You always told me to tell the truth, but sometimes the truth is just too painful. I know it’s not Dad’s fault that we’re in this mess, but it’s difficult to admit it to other people without being embarrassed.
    This had gotten me thinking of everything you taught me about being a Christian. You always told me that you would pray whenever you felt scared and alone. I might try to pray again tonight. But it seems like every time I try, I don’t know what to say. I’m not good at talking to God. I feel like I have spiritual laryngitis when I try to open up to him. It’s like since you’ve left us, I’ve lost part of myself. I don’t remember how to reach out to others and give myself. I find myself clamming up and hiding who I really am.
    Maybe I’ll try to call Megan. She knows what Dad and I went through with your illness. She would understand how I’m feeling right now and help me sort through it all.
    I set the journal on the bedside table and grabbed the phone. After dialing Megan’s number, I flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling fan. When Megan’s recorded voice filled my ear, I groaned and hung up.
    Rolling to my side, I picked up Chelsea’s number and stared at it again. Closing my eyes, I thumped myself on the forehead.
    Don’t be stupid, Emily. Call Chelsea. She likes you. She’s your friend.
    My stomach clenched as I dialed her number.
    “Hello?” she asked.
    “Hey, Chelsea,” I said, sounding a little too cheery. “It’s Emily.”
    “Oh,” Chelsea said, her voice the opposite of mine. “Hi, Emily.”
    I tried to ignore the frost as I pushed on. “What are you up to tonight?”
    “Not much,” she said. “Just sitting here watching TV.”
    “How are your brothers feeling?” I asked.
    “Better, thanks.” Chelsea paused. “How’s the pool party?” Her usually sweet and upbeat voice seeped with hurt.
    Way to get right to the point, Chels.
    I swallowed. Now was the time to fix this. “I didn’t go. I’ve been up in my room most of the night.”
    “Right,” she said. “Look, I’ve got to go. I think I hear my brother cry —”
    “Wait!” I cut in. “Don’t hang up. Let me explain.”
    “Fine,” she said with an I-mean-business-tone. “Just level with me. And I want the truth.”
    “Of course,” I