Read Online The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Moriarty
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Romance, Contemporary, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Girls, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Modern fiction, Education, First loves, Girls & Women, Multigenerational, General & Literary Fiction, Grandmothers, Mothers and daughters, American First Novelists, Single mothers, Kansas, Gifted, Gifted children, Special Education, Children of single parents
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Traci Carmichael has nineteen. I count them when she stands by my desk, sharpening her pencils.
She also has four different OP sweatshirts, with matching ribbons for her braids. Other people have one or two of these sweatshirts—Brad Browning has three—but only Traci has four. They are just normal sweatshirts, with hoods and sometimes pockets and palm trees painted on the back, but they say OP on them, and this is what matters. I asked my mother for one for Christmas, but she said no. You could get just as good a sweatshirt without a palm tree on it for half the price, she said, and who needs a goddamn palm tree in the middle of Kansas anyway? She said “OP” stands for Over Priced, in her opinion anyway. But it doesn’t. It stands for Ocean Pacific, and I wish I had one.
Traci Carmichael’s house is the last stop the bus makes in the morning. She lives in a redbrick house, a porch swing in front, twelve different windows on just the front side. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live there, in all that space. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. I picture Traci at one end of the house, having to call to her mother at the other end, her hands cupped around her mouth.
I know Traci’s mother, and I don’t like her because of registration day. There was a long line to sign up for lunches, and the Carmichaels got there after we did. When Mrs. Carmichael saw the line, she said in a loud voice that she didn’t appreciate the poor management that had led to such a long line on such a hot day, when some people were busy and had things to do. My mother and I were standing behind Robby Hernandez and his mother, and when they got up to the front of the line, Mrs. Carmichael was standing right next to them because of the way the line wound around itself. The Hernandezes had just gotten up to the counter when Mrs. Carmichael leaned forward, jingling her car keys to get the registration lady’s attention, and said, “Excuse me, but don’t you think the people who are actually paying for the lunches should get to go first?”
The registration lady said she didn’t know, and Mrs. Carmichael said it only seemed fair, and then Brad Browning’s mother raised her hand like she was in school and said she had just been thinking the same thing, the same thing exactly. They were both wearing sleeveless shirts and sweaters with the sleeves tied around their shoulders. My mother watched them talking, sweat trickling down her forehead, no sweater. I get free lunches too, and we were next in line.
The registration lady said she might as well finish up with Mrs. Hernandez, since she was already up at the front of the line, but by then Robby had turned what they were saying into Spanish and Mrs. Hernandez went straight to the back of the line, pulling him behind her, without anyone saying another word about it. So we had to go to the back of the line too. Mrs. Hernandez put on a pair of sunglasses even though we were inside, and I could tell she was crying, or at least trying not to, her mouth closed tight like she would never open it again.
When Traci and her mother got to the front of the line, my mother was too mad to talk. She stood very still, her arms crossed, her eyes trained on the back of Mrs. Carmichael’s head as if just by looking at it, she could make it explode.
So when the bus pulls up to Traci’s brick house with the porch swing and she isn’t there, I’m glad, because maybe Traci is sick and won’t be able to be in the science fair. Libby Masterson is Traci’s next-door neighbor, and she isn’t at her stop either, which makes sense, because she does everything Traci tells her to, and if Traci called her and said, “Don’t go to school tomorrow,” Libby probably wouldn’t.
I know you’re not supposed to be glad when other people get sick, but I have been sick of Traci for a long time. And it’s not like you can make someone sick just by wishing for it. Eileen says you can make sick people
She also has four different OP sweatshirts, with matching ribbons for her braids. Other people have one or two of these sweatshirts—Brad Browning has three—but only Traci has four. They are just normal sweatshirts, with hoods and sometimes pockets and palm trees painted on the back, but they say OP on them, and this is what matters. I asked my mother for one for Christmas, but she said no. You could get just as good a sweatshirt without a palm tree on it for half the price, she said, and who needs a goddamn palm tree in the middle of Kansas anyway? She said “OP” stands for Over Priced, in her opinion anyway. But it doesn’t. It stands for Ocean Pacific, and I wish I had one.
Traci Carmichael’s house is the last stop the bus makes in the morning. She lives in a redbrick house, a porch swing in front, twelve different windows on just the front side. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live there, in all that space. She doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. I picture Traci at one end of the house, having to call to her mother at the other end, her hands cupped around her mouth.
I know Traci’s mother, and I don’t like her because of registration day. There was a long line to sign up for lunches, and the Carmichaels got there after we did. When Mrs. Carmichael saw the line, she said in a loud voice that she didn’t appreciate the poor management that had led to such a long line on such a hot day, when some people were busy and had things to do. My mother and I were standing behind Robby Hernandez and his mother, and when they got up to the front of the line, Mrs. Carmichael was standing right next to them because of the way the line wound around itself. The Hernandezes had just gotten up to the counter when Mrs. Carmichael leaned forward, jingling her car keys to get the registration lady’s attention, and said, “Excuse me, but don’t you think the people who are actually paying for the lunches should get to go first?”
The registration lady said she didn’t know, and Mrs. Carmichael said it only seemed fair, and then Brad Browning’s mother raised her hand like she was in school and said she had just been thinking the same thing, the same thing exactly. They were both wearing sleeveless shirts and sweaters with the sleeves tied around their shoulders. My mother watched them talking, sweat trickling down her forehead, no sweater. I get free lunches too, and we were next in line.
The registration lady said she might as well finish up with Mrs. Hernandez, since she was already up at the front of the line, but by then Robby had turned what they were saying into Spanish and Mrs. Hernandez went straight to the back of the line, pulling him behind her, without anyone saying another word about it. So we had to go to the back of the line too. Mrs. Hernandez put on a pair of sunglasses even though we were inside, and I could tell she was crying, or at least trying not to, her mouth closed tight like she would never open it again.
When Traci and her mother got to the front of the line, my mother was too mad to talk. She stood very still, her arms crossed, her eyes trained on the back of Mrs. Carmichael’s head as if just by looking at it, she could make it explode.
So when the bus pulls up to Traci’s brick house with the porch swing and she isn’t there, I’m glad, because maybe Traci is sick and won’t be able to be in the science fair. Libby Masterson is Traci’s next-door neighbor, and she isn’t at her stop either, which makes sense, because she does everything Traci tells her to, and if Traci called her and said, “Don’t go to school tomorrow,” Libby probably wouldn’t.
I know you’re not supposed to be glad when other people get sick, but I have been sick of Traci for a long time. And it’s not like you can make someone sick just by wishing for it. Eileen says you can make sick people
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