Read Online Ten by Lauren Myracle - Free Book Online Page B

he whispered.
    I looked.
    â€œIt sure is,” I whispered back.
    â€œIt’s not her fault, though.”
    â€œNo, moles aren’t anyone’s fault.”
    â€œDo I have any moles?”
    â€œNot yet, although you might grow some. Especially if you eat too many Sour Skittles.”
    His eyes widened, then narrowed. “Nuh-uh. You just want my Sour Skittles. But guess what? I don’t even have any Sour Skittles!”
    I still had the two dollars Mom gave me, and I displayed them to Ty. “Snack bar?”
    His face lit up. Then he frowned. “But—”
    I was way ahead of him. “We’ll tell Mom they were out of popsicles—which they are.” I didn’t know that, but I didn’t not know that, either. It was summer. Freezers broke, popsicles melted.
    I kept hold of Ty’s hand as we strolled to the snack bar. “So let’s review what we’ve learned. What do you think that frilly Erica girl would have said about the girl wearing board shorts?”
    â€œThat she wasn’t allowed?”
    â€œYup. What about the man in the Speedo?”
    â€œWhat’s a Speedo?”
    â€œThe man whose bathing suit was like the bottom half of a bikini,” I clarified.
    â€œUm . . . not allowed?”
    â€œCorrect again.” I squeezed his hand. “So is Erica right about things, and I’m wrong? Or am I right, and she’s wrong?”
    â€œYou’re right, and so am I, and she is a poo-poo-head,” Ty said. “After we have our snack, will you play in the little kids’ pool with me?”
    â€œAbsolutely. You can be a dolphin, and I’ll be your trainer, and if you do your tricks right, I’ll reward you with Skittles.”
    â€œOnly we’ll say they’re fish,” he said. We got into line at the snack bar. “And if we see that mean Ewica, then she can just . . . just . . .”
    â€œFluff the ruffles on her bathing suit?”
    He grinned. “Yeah!”
    His Dusty Rose toenails sparkled in the sunshine, calling to mind seashells and dolphin treats and all things summery, splashy, and fun-with-a-capital- fuh .

July
    I was so mad at Amanda that I could cry. My tears would be as hot as the hot Georgia sun, and I would collect them in ajar and . . . do something with them. Pour them on Amanda’s head, maybe, so her beautiful blond hair would burn to a frizzle.
    Only I would never do that, so fine.
    Instead, I kicked Bearie, my stuffed animal bear that I loved. Ow . That Bearie was a Very Heavy Bear. He was stuffed with rice, was why, and if the urge fell upon me, I could microwave him and he would get toasty-warm and extra-cuddly. In the winter, I shoved him under the sheets to the bottom of my bed, and he kept my feet cozy while I slept.
    Today he made my foot un happy, that bad bear. Except it wasn’t his fault, since I was the one who kicked him, and that was mean of me, too. It made my heart unhappy.
    I scooped him up and clutched him to my chest. “I’m sorry, Bearie,” I said. My voice wobbled, and I was tempted to go get a hand mirror so I could watch myself be sad. Then I remembered that I wasn’t sad. I was mad , and not at Bearie, but at Amanda.
    â€œWinnie, get down here now ,” Mom called from the foot of the staircase. She was exasperated with me for being draggy and slow on the first day of summer camp. But guess what? I was exasperated, too.
    â€œI can’t find my boots,” I complained.
    â€œThey’re in your closet . I put them there on purpose.”
    Perhaps she did, but after I tried them on last night, I kicked them off on purpose. They’d arced through the air and landed humble-jumble by my beanbag chair, but I chose not to acknowledge their existence.
    â€œGrab them and come on,” Mom called. She and I were the only ones in the house, as Sandra was with Ty at the park and Dad was at work.
    I didn’t grab them. I didn’t do