Read Online The Grown Ups by Robin Antalek - Free Book Online Page A

a cookie off the tray and studied it before she nibbled an edge. “I’m just the tour guide working for my work-study dollars. Not admissions.”
    â€œMy brother goes here, so . . .” He shrugged.
    â€œWho is your brother?”
    â€œMichael Turner.”
    â€œNo kidding? Why didn’t you say something?” She squinted at Sam through a fringe of bangs that fell into her eyes. “Then you must know Kate.”
    Sam frowned and shook his head.
    â€œHis girlfriend?” Carrie said. “She’s one of my roommates. He must talk about Kate. They’ve been together for at least a year by now.”
    â€œMichael talks?” It slipped out before Sam thought about it. Michael had had a girlfriend for a year?
    Carrie laughed. “You are funny.” She nibbled some more of the cookie. “So I’ll probably see you tonight. Then you can meet Kate. You’re coming with Michael, right?”
    â€œUh, sure, yeah. Tonight.” Michael had said the previous day that they were hanging out, so maybe he was planning on telling Sam later that they were going to a party, and about his girlfriend.
    Carrie popped the rest of the cookie into her mouth. “Okay, well, my tour duties are officially over. I’m just going to hand out these info packets to the parental units and then I’m out of here.” She put her backpack down on the floor and pulled out a sheaf of folders with the Brown University logo, offering one to Sam before she wandered away. He watched her calves in diamond-patterned tights squeeze and release as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet in her scuffed black Doc Martens. Then he turned back to the cookies and swiped half a dozen off the tray and a canof Coke. It wasn’t until he was back at Michael’s apartment that he realized he had left the folder she had given him on the table.
    Their father went about the business of divorcing their mother like he did everything else: silently and away from the house. He worked as an attorney for a large firm in Manhattan. He never talked about his work, and Sam’s childhood memories of him consisted of a bulging briefcase and progressively bad eyesight.
    Sam found out about the divorce one night after dinner. His father was at the sink; it was his turn to wash because Sam had cooked. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow and suds clung to the hair on his forearms. Sam was hunched over the table, pretending to do his English homework and hoping he could sweet-talk Mindy Stevens into letting him see her vocabulary paragraphs, when his father started talking about things being official.
    Sam looked up and tapped his pencil on the table. “Huh?”
    â€œI just want you to know that you are mine. Officially.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means I have custody of you. Your mother has visitation.”
    Sam tapped his pencil again. Since his mother left, there had been several awkward phone calls. So far he had refused to join her for the meal she kept offering to buy him.
    â€œShe has you for a week in the summer and one weekend a month, if you want.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t?”
    His father turned back to the dishes without answering. Sam noticed a smear of salsa on the back of his pants from their taco dinner and he felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to tell him. “What about Michael?” He assumed his parents had divided their children and his mother had chosen Michael.
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œDoes she have Michael too?”
    His father sighed. “That’s a little more complicated. Or a little less, depending upon who you are, I suppose. Michael is over eighteen, so he can choose what time, if any, to spend with your mother.”
    â€œWhy didn’t anyone ask me?”
    His father sighed again. “I didn’t think you wanted to go to court, Sam.”
    Sam slapped his notebook shut. “I need to go out for