Read Online Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen by Glen Huser - Free Book Online

Wrinkle Queen for a teacher. Must have been a barrel of fun.
    â€œFire away,” I say.
    She looks at me oddly and gives her head a little shake. The rooms at the lodge always have their heatjacked up so it’s like you’re in a jungle. The Wrinkle Queen is looking totally wilted.
    â€œDear Mr. Muss...”
    â€œMussbacher.”
    â€œMussbacher...”
    â€œI think I can figure it out,” I say. “I’ll just take some parts from the other letters.”
    When she nods her head, I stow my binder in my backpack and check the calendar again. I have three exams next week but there’s one study day.
    â€œI can drop by on Thursday and you can see how the letters turned out.”
    Maybe she’s gone to sleep. I’m ready to tiptoe out when she rears her head and says, “How’s the driving coming?”
    â€œI’ve had four lessons. Only killed one garbage can so far.”
    But she’s got her eyes closed and she’s muttering away again as I head out into the hall.
    Actually, Herb’s not a bad teacher. Very patient. Obviously not from the same school that trained the Wrinkle Queen.
    We have a lesson tonight. Herb laughs at how fast I clear away the supper dishes. I’ve made it part of my proactive thing, and Shirl acts like she’s died and gone to heaven when she sits down and has another cup oftea and watches one of the Oprah shows she’s taped because it always comes on while she’s getting home from the daycare.
    The one tonight is on makeovers, and I can’t help bobbing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to see how Oprah’s specialists change a dowdy-looking middle-aged lady with gray hair down to her waist and another woman who’s overweight and goes around in sweats all the time. Quite amazing, and it wouldn’t hurt for Shirl to take a few notes.
    â€œOh, my,” she sighs when they come out at the end of the program. “You can hardly believe it’s the same people.”
    â€œSo, Tam —” Herb’s given the gremlins their baths and got them into pajamas. “Ready for the garbage can derby?” He winks at me.
    Tonight we’re practicing parallel parking. Herb takes the wheel first. He must remember all the stuff he used to say when he was a part-time driving instructor.
    â€œPull up beside the vehicle just ahead — and you want to be pretty close. Not so close you’re gonna scrape the door handle, but almost, and when you’ve got the nose of the car just about to where the parked car’s windshield is, then...”
    He shows me on three vehicles. And then it’s my turn.
    â€œGood. Right turn arrow on. Now put it in reverse and turn the steering wheel...”
    This is scary. It would be so easy to connect with the other car. And if you do, does that mean they take away your learner’s permit?
    â€œDon’t tense up,” Herb is saying. “Just take it slow and easy. That’s it...now straighten the wheels out.”
    He makes me do two more. When I finish the last one, I lean my head against the steering wheel.
    Why does everything have to be so hard?
    I feel Herb’s hand squeeze my shoulder.
    â€œYou did good,” he says. “Just fine.”
    Now I am crying. Don’t be nice to me, Herb. In a few weeks I’m going to be papering your mailbox with letter-perfect lies and running away to the edge of the world with the Wicked Witch of the West.

12
    Byron and I are sitting together in the Triple S cafeteria. He’s speechless. He holds the vacation package in his hand and keeps looking at it, ignoring the candle that the cafeteria chef has lit on the pink-frosted cupcake.
    â€œHappy Birthday!” I say, raising my glass of cranberry juice.
    â€œBut it’s not for a month yet.”
    â€œI want you to be on the beach at Puerto Galera on your real birthday.” I try to look him in the eye but, like his