Read Online The Museum of Intangible Things by Wendy Wunder - Free Book Online
Authors: Wendy Wunder
Ads: Link
breath, zips the final skirt around the waist of her headless dress form. Her eyes are a little off-kilter and glassy. One seems a tiny bit bigger than the other, and her pupils are strangely dilated. Crazy eyes. Her fingers are in constant motion.
“Maybe you should brush your hair,” I say in a complete role reversal. “Maybe we should talk about last night. It seems like something happened. Zo. It seems like you’re working something out. What happened?” I hug her, trying to compress her body and slow it down. I look down, and I notice she’s not wearing any socks at all.
“It’s not going to work anymore, Banana,” Zoe says, reading my mind. She wiggles her bare toes at me.
“Then we’ll think of something else,” I say.
ELATION
It’s Sunday. I called over, and Zoe’s mom Susan said that she was asleep. It is a deep, worrisome kind of sleep, though. No one is able to rouse her at all. Noah has been climbing on top of her, tickling her nose with a feather, spraying her with a water bottle, to no avail. Susan is keeping close tabs on her. I decide to let her sleep.
I should set up the hot dog cart and try to make some sales, but I do need to think, and I do that best at the lake. So I go to the beach and sit on the bench at the end of the parking lot peninsula. I turn my head toward the sun, close my eyes, and listen to the lake as it laps and licks at the rocks.
I relax, and I try to replay the moment that Danny Spinelli bolted for the stairs at Ethan’s.
Did he really say, “Call me”? Or was I dreaming? I replay it over and over again. “Crap,” he said. “Gotta go.” He was blushing. His legs could have taken the entire staircase in one leap, but he floated up two at a time. He was afraid to get caught with me. And he fled. Taking the steps two at a time, and he said . . .
Call me.
Or maybe he didn’t.
Maybe I wanted him to say that.
I force myself to think about something else. Honestly, in a million years, even if he
had
said, “Call me,” would I do it? No. So it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Zoe is in bed. And I can’t get her to talk about it. That should be my focus.
I try to think of a new cognitive behavioral therapy device (this is what the shrinks call it), like the socks, that will jog her into controlling her moods.
“I didn’t think anyone ever sat on this bench,” says a voice
.
I turn around and jump when I see Danny Spinelli leaning on a piling, his arms crossed in front of him, studying me. His infinite legs are crossed too. I wonder how he can find pants that fit him so well.
“That is one stealthy ice cream truck. I didn’t even hear you,” I manage to say, hoping my voice sounds breathy and ethereal but knowing it is actually nervous and pinched and nasally. “Um. I come here to think,” I tell him.
“What are you thinking about?” He sits down next to me, and we look out at the lake.
“Cognitive behavioral therapy. You?” I actually flip my hair. I wish Zoe could have seen it.
“Whoa. That’s deep. Now I don’t want to say what I was thinking about.”
“What?” I insist.
“Never mind,” he says, blushing. “You should never ask a guy what he’s thinking. Ninety percent of the time he’s thinking of unbuttoning your blouse. The other ten percent is just blank. Or filled with the occasional thoughts about food. But only when we’re already starving and cranky.”
“You’re not giving your gender much credit. I mean, you did get a lot done while you had us enslaved, barefoot, and pregnant for most of history. You had to have had a few other ideas.”
“Nope. That’s pretty much it. It’s pretty motivating.” He nervous-yawns and stretches, wrapping his legs over top of each other and landing his elbow on the seat back. Shy, graceful, and catlike. It’s beautiful, the way he moves.
“I should wear more buttons,” I say with a sigh.
Danny stares down at me, smiling. “What?” he asks me, poking me in the
“Maybe you should brush your hair,” I say in a complete role reversal. “Maybe we should talk about last night. It seems like something happened. Zo. It seems like you’re working something out. What happened?” I hug her, trying to compress her body and slow it down. I look down, and I notice she’s not wearing any socks at all.
“It’s not going to work anymore, Banana,” Zoe says, reading my mind. She wiggles her bare toes at me.
“Then we’ll think of something else,” I say.
ELATION
It’s Sunday. I called over, and Zoe’s mom Susan said that she was asleep. It is a deep, worrisome kind of sleep, though. No one is able to rouse her at all. Noah has been climbing on top of her, tickling her nose with a feather, spraying her with a water bottle, to no avail. Susan is keeping close tabs on her. I decide to let her sleep.
I should set up the hot dog cart and try to make some sales, but I do need to think, and I do that best at the lake. So I go to the beach and sit on the bench at the end of the parking lot peninsula. I turn my head toward the sun, close my eyes, and listen to the lake as it laps and licks at the rocks.
I relax, and I try to replay the moment that Danny Spinelli bolted for the stairs at Ethan’s.
Did he really say, “Call me”? Or was I dreaming? I replay it over and over again. “Crap,” he said. “Gotta go.” He was blushing. His legs could have taken the entire staircase in one leap, but he floated up two at a time. He was afraid to get caught with me. And he fled. Taking the steps two at a time, and he said . . .
Call me.
Or maybe he didn’t.
Maybe I wanted him to say that.
I force myself to think about something else. Honestly, in a million years, even if he
had
said, “Call me,” would I do it? No. So it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Zoe is in bed. And I can’t get her to talk about it. That should be my focus.
I try to think of a new cognitive behavioral therapy device (this is what the shrinks call it), like the socks, that will jog her into controlling her moods.
“I didn’t think anyone ever sat on this bench,” says a voice
.
I turn around and jump when I see Danny Spinelli leaning on a piling, his arms crossed in front of him, studying me. His infinite legs are crossed too. I wonder how he can find pants that fit him so well.
“That is one stealthy ice cream truck. I didn’t even hear you,” I manage to say, hoping my voice sounds breathy and ethereal but knowing it is actually nervous and pinched and nasally. “Um. I come here to think,” I tell him.
“What are you thinking about?” He sits down next to me, and we look out at the lake.
“Cognitive behavioral therapy. You?” I actually flip my hair. I wish Zoe could have seen it.
“Whoa. That’s deep. Now I don’t want to say what I was thinking about.”
“What?” I insist.
“Never mind,” he says, blushing. “You should never ask a guy what he’s thinking. Ninety percent of the time he’s thinking of unbuttoning your blouse. The other ten percent is just blank. Or filled with the occasional thoughts about food. But only when we’re already starving and cranky.”
“You’re not giving your gender much credit. I mean, you did get a lot done while you had us enslaved, barefoot, and pregnant for most of history. You had to have had a few other ideas.”
“Nope. That’s pretty much it. It’s pretty motivating.” He nervous-yawns and stretches, wrapping his legs over top of each other and landing his elbow on the seat back. Shy, graceful, and catlike. It’s beautiful, the way he moves.
“I should wear more buttons,” I say with a sigh.
Danny stares down at me, smiling. “What?” he asks me, poking me in the
Similar Books
