Read Online Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) by Sarah Mlynowski - Free Book Online
Authors: Sarah Mlynowski
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Upstairs, Vi was still in gym clothes, putting a bowl into the dishwasher. “Morning!” she said. “Will you run the dishwasher when you’re done?”
“Of course,” I said. “Were you working out?”
“I do the HardCore3000 videos. Have you ever tried them? Incredible. You should do it with me tomorrow morning.”
“Um . . . maybe.” I tended to sit on my ass whenever it wasn’t soccer season. But maybe Vi’s athleticism would inspire me. Or not. “Is there anything to eat for breakfast?”
“Not much,” she said. “There’s some cinnamon raisin bread in the freezer. We really need to go grocery shopping after school.”
We’d been planning on shopping the day before, but it had snowed all day. Well, that and we’d been too hung over to leave the house. Not hung over in a sick way—just tired and happy. Saturday night had been so much fun. Sure, it had been a bit weird with Noah—since he’d driven people home, we never got any alone time. But there’d be plenty of time for that.
“Should we meet back here around five and go together?” she asked. “I have an Issue meeting after class or else we could take one car to school.”
“Yeah, let’s meet here then.” The Issue was the school paper. Every month they chose a different theme and all the articles had to be about that. Last semester they’d done Family, Sports, Health, and Holidays. “So what are your next issues?”
“No January issue, but February is bullying, and I’m thinking March will be sex,” she said and then disappeared into her bathroom.
Sex? I guess I wouldn’t be the cover story.
After I finished eating, I loaded my plate into the dishwasher and scoped out the situation. I had never actually run a dishwasher before. That was something my mom did, and then Penny or my dad. I was more of the unloading type.
How hard could it be?
First, the soap. Probably under the sink. Yes! Seventh Generation Dish Soap! I took out the white container, squirted it into the welcoming square, closed the door, and pressed START . All right, then. I headed back downstairs, where I brushed my teeth, put on makeup, and grabbed my car keys.
And then.
I got to the top of the basement stairs to find Vi on the kitchen floor on all fours with a dish towel, surrounded by a flood of white, foamy bubbles.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I think you used the wrong soap,” she said calmly.
“I am so sorry.” My cheeks burned and I felt like a complete idiot. “Let me get it. Where are the paper towels?”
“Under the sink. But I think a towel-towel would work better.”
I grabbed the other dish towel and crouched down beside her. We mopped up the rest of the mess in silence. Great start to the year, April!
After we were done she said, “Will you just put these towels in the wash? I’ll run it when I get home.”
“I can run—” I started but she gave me a look and I decided that having a brief seminar on all the appliances was not a terrible plan under the circumstances. “Okay.”
By the time I hurried down to the washing machine (which was in my bathroom downstairs), and then back up, Vi had almost contained the situation. “You better go on. It’s going to take you a while to clean off your car.”
“Right. Thanks,” I said. It was a one-car garage and my car was just outside in the driveway. “I’ll see you at school.”
I stepped into my boots, zipped up my coat, and braced myself for the cold. And there it was. Penny’s car. My car. Buried under two feet of snow. Excellent. I wiped the snow off with my gloves, then used the scraper on the windows. Once my gloves were soaking, my wrists were frozen, and I was done, I tossed my schoolbag into the passenger side, and climbed in. It felt strange to sit in the driver’s seat of Penny’s car. When I drove—which I hardly ever did—I always took my dad’s car. A blood relative would hate you less than an inherited one if you scratched his
Upstairs, Vi was still in gym clothes, putting a bowl into the dishwasher. “Morning!” she said. “Will you run the dishwasher when you’re done?”
“Of course,” I said. “Were you working out?”
“I do the HardCore3000 videos. Have you ever tried them? Incredible. You should do it with me tomorrow morning.”
“Um . . . maybe.” I tended to sit on my ass whenever it wasn’t soccer season. But maybe Vi’s athleticism would inspire me. Or not. “Is there anything to eat for breakfast?”
“Not much,” she said. “There’s some cinnamon raisin bread in the freezer. We really need to go grocery shopping after school.”
We’d been planning on shopping the day before, but it had snowed all day. Well, that and we’d been too hung over to leave the house. Not hung over in a sick way—just tired and happy. Saturday night had been so much fun. Sure, it had been a bit weird with Noah—since he’d driven people home, we never got any alone time. But there’d be plenty of time for that.
“Should we meet back here around five and go together?” she asked. “I have an Issue meeting after class or else we could take one car to school.”
“Yeah, let’s meet here then.” The Issue was the school paper. Every month they chose a different theme and all the articles had to be about that. Last semester they’d done Family, Sports, Health, and Holidays. “So what are your next issues?”
“No January issue, but February is bullying, and I’m thinking March will be sex,” she said and then disappeared into her bathroom.
Sex? I guess I wouldn’t be the cover story.
After I finished eating, I loaded my plate into the dishwasher and scoped out the situation. I had never actually run a dishwasher before. That was something my mom did, and then Penny or my dad. I was more of the unloading type.
How hard could it be?
First, the soap. Probably under the sink. Yes! Seventh Generation Dish Soap! I took out the white container, squirted it into the welcoming square, closed the door, and pressed START . All right, then. I headed back downstairs, where I brushed my teeth, put on makeup, and grabbed my car keys.
And then.
I got to the top of the basement stairs to find Vi on the kitchen floor on all fours with a dish towel, surrounded by a flood of white, foamy bubbles.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I think you used the wrong soap,” she said calmly.
“I am so sorry.” My cheeks burned and I felt like a complete idiot. “Let me get it. Where are the paper towels?”
“Under the sink. But I think a towel-towel would work better.”
I grabbed the other dish towel and crouched down beside her. We mopped up the rest of the mess in silence. Great start to the year, April!
After we were done she said, “Will you just put these towels in the wash? I’ll run it when I get home.”
“I can run—” I started but she gave me a look and I decided that having a brief seminar on all the appliances was not a terrible plan under the circumstances. “Okay.”
By the time I hurried down to the washing machine (which was in my bathroom downstairs), and then back up, Vi had almost contained the situation. “You better go on. It’s going to take you a while to clean off your car.”
“Right. Thanks,” I said. It was a one-car garage and my car was just outside in the driveway. “I’ll see you at school.”
I stepped into my boots, zipped up my coat, and braced myself for the cold. And there it was. Penny’s car. My car. Buried under two feet of snow. Excellent. I wiped the snow off with my gloves, then used the scraper on the windows. Once my gloves were soaking, my wrists were frozen, and I was done, I tossed my schoolbag into the passenger side, and climbed in. It felt strange to sit in the driver’s seat of Penny’s car. When I drove—which I hardly ever did—I always took my dad’s car. A blood relative would hate you less than an inherited one if you scratched his
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