Read Online The Key to the Golden Firebird by Maureen Johnson - Free Book Online Page B

Me?”
    â€œYeah. A really little one.”
    â€œI thought so,” Linda said. “So, do you have any personal information you want to share with me?”
    â€œI’m wearing Brooks’s underwear.”
    â€œAgain?”
    â€œShe’s supposed to do the laundry—but it’s been over a week. You know Brooks. She doesn’t do anything.”
    â€œIs she still seeing that guy?”
    â€œDave?” May said. “Yeah. More than ever now.”
    They walked up the front steps and in through the ornate doorway of the school. Herds of maroon-suited girls hurried in all directions.
    â€œWhat about you?” Linda asked.
    â€œWhat about me?”
    â€œAren’t you getting lessons from Pete?”
    May nodded.
    â€œSo?” Linda said. “How’s that?”
    â€œWe’ve only gone once, a week ago on Monday. It was fine.”
    â€œYou haven’t complained about it at all. You always complain when you see Pete.”
    â€œHe’s behaving.”
    Linda hmmmed.
    â€œDon’t do that,” May said.
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œMake that noise.”
    Linda smiled innocently.
    â€œAnyway, I don’t even know what’s going to happen when I do get my license,” May went on. “We only have the one car, really, and it’s not like I’ll suddenly have this amazing life even if I can drive.”
    â€œ When you can.”
    â€œWhatever. The only reason I’m getting my license at all is because my mom can’t count on Brooks to do things. We can’t afford the extra insurance right now.”
    â€œBut it will help,” Linda said, “with getting a life.”
    â€œHow do you get a life?” May asked. “I mean, does it just show up someday?”
    â€œGetting outside of your house for something other than school or work is probably a good place to start.”
    â€œWell, that isn’t going to happen,” May said.
    Â 
    Palmer was happy out on the field, with the dirt, the grass, the blinding sun. Heat, cold, sweat—no problem. Outside, it wasn’t quite so obvious that every part of her body was weirdly long , like she was actually a short person who had been stretched out of shape. It didn’t matter that she had no chest or that she had the gangly walk of a girl who really only knows how to run. On the field these were advantages. On the field she was the pitcher—the star.
    Here in the locker room, though, with the gels and lotions that smelled of peach and coconut, the body buffs, the blow-dryers, the exfoliant scrubs, the intense conditioners—this was where it all fell apart. This was where it was all too clear that Palmer was fourteen and flat, with perennially oily hair, chewed-up nails, and skin that was always either windburnedor sunburned. In here, Palmer was just a gawky freshman. It had been different when Brooks was here. Brooks had always been so popular, so loud. She was the shortstop and the talker, and Palmer was the quiet, intense pitcher. That was how Palmer liked it.
    Now she was just Palmer, naked, struggling to pull a scratchy towel around herself. The towels she brought were always too small, so she had to hunch to cover herself up.
    Diana Haverty was sprawled out over most of the bench behind Palmer’s locker, wrapped snugly in the thickest red towel Palmer had ever seen. She was examining her toes, which were tiny and cute. Her toenails were painted an Easter-egg blue.
    â€œI don’t know if I like this color,” Diana said to no one in particular.
    â€œI think it’s nice.” Emma, the third-base player, turned from her locker to join in the examination of the adorable digits. “Who makes it?”
    â€œHard Candy.”
    â€œStila makes a color kind of like that, but it’s a little glossier.”
    â€œReally?” Diana said. “I need to pick something for my prom pedicure, and that’s what I want: a light