Read Online The Secret Life of Prince Charming by Deb Caletti - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deb Caletti
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Values & Virtues, Adolescence, Emotions & Feelings, Social Themes
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eyebrows went up, and her mouth opened like those dark tunnels trains go through. Sprout’s story was actually about Ivar and the neighbor’s dog, Tucker, who leave home and go on a trip. Stolen right from The Incredible Journey .
“Cool,” Hannah said.
Dad walked Hannah to the front door. We could hear him: “The novel’s based on my family history, told in magical realism,” he said.
“Blah-be-blah-blah-blah,” Sprout said.
The front door closed. He’d gone outside, where they were probably standing outside her car door. He was out there a long time.
“For God’s sake, she’s twelve,” Sprout said.
“He’s just being friendly,” I said.
“If she becomes our new stepmother, I’m outta here,” Sprout said.
F RANCES L EE G IOFRANCO :
Before I started going out with Gavin, I met this guy, Terrence Vinnigan, who basically was just hot. Really great body. Nicest ass. Hard, round shoulders—they were like squeezing cantaloupes. I couldn’t believe he wanted to be with me. It made me feel a little insecure. I’m not exactly a workout, pump-it, gym type. Give me a pint of coffee ice cream. But Terrence went to the gym seven days a week—after school, weekends—classes. Cardio Boxing, Power-Strength Lifting, Super Big Guy Strong Man 101. He drank protein shakes and had these serious-looking vitamin bottles with brown and green labels; you know, no Flintstones Chewables like the ones me and Gavin have as a side dish to our Fruity Pebbles.
I liked his body, I admit it, and he liked my potential. I guess he was going to shape me up too, so I could be a self-obsessed, freak-of-nature muscle mass like him. He started making these comments like, “We should start you out on little walks.” He called them “walkies,” isn’t that adorable? As if that might make actual exercise cuter and less intimidating to me. He jiggled my butt. He brought me sushi, when I hate sushi. He was one of those guys you feel you have to try hard to be equal to—as in shape as he is, as intelligent, as whatever. The kind you’re slightly uneasy around because you know that deep down, he feels you don’t measure up. Gavin—he brings me peanut butter cookies. He hates sushi too. With Gavin, I relax.
Anyway, it all blew up in my face one day when I told Terrence I wanted to study child psychology, and he laughed and said that’s what people did who had fucked-up childhoods.It was a cliché, he said. You’re going to counsel people on how to run their lives? I said, “What do you mean by that?” And he said, “You don’t even see your own father. You have self-esteem issues.”
And then suddenly, I realized he was right. I did have self-esteem issues. He was living, breathing, weight-lifting proof. He’d started to say things like, “Why do you wait so long before shifting into third? It’s bad for your engine.” “Why do you eat so fast?” Why do you everything, anything. And I just kept my mouth shut. He was always telling me how I felt and who I was, too. “You’re just upset because…” “You’re an overly sensitive person….” He was wrong 85 percent of the time, but all that mattered to him was his own version of me. I’d tell him how I did feel, and he’d shove it aside like he knew me better than I knew myself. It was bullshit.
It was bullshit, and it was my dad all over again. He has a whole relationship with a you that’s not even you. It reminded me of when I was a kid, right around the sixth grade. I’d put on weight and Barry, who has always thought he was Mr. Beautiful, was on this running kick at the time. He’d lecture me about carbs and shit and how I needed to be in control of food and not let it be in control of me, and he’d take pinches of me and say things like, “What do we have here?” Thank you very much. One more way I wasn’t good enough for him. And he’d given me all this shit about what I was going to study in college too. You know, all the two times he happened
“Cool,” Hannah said.
Dad walked Hannah to the front door. We could hear him: “The novel’s based on my family history, told in magical realism,” he said.
“Blah-be-blah-blah-blah,” Sprout said.
The front door closed. He’d gone outside, where they were probably standing outside her car door. He was out there a long time.
“For God’s sake, she’s twelve,” Sprout said.
“He’s just being friendly,” I said.
“If she becomes our new stepmother, I’m outta here,” Sprout said.
F RANCES L EE G IOFRANCO :
Before I started going out with Gavin, I met this guy, Terrence Vinnigan, who basically was just hot. Really great body. Nicest ass. Hard, round shoulders—they were like squeezing cantaloupes. I couldn’t believe he wanted to be with me. It made me feel a little insecure. I’m not exactly a workout, pump-it, gym type. Give me a pint of coffee ice cream. But Terrence went to the gym seven days a week—after school, weekends—classes. Cardio Boxing, Power-Strength Lifting, Super Big Guy Strong Man 101. He drank protein shakes and had these serious-looking vitamin bottles with brown and green labels; you know, no Flintstones Chewables like the ones me and Gavin have as a side dish to our Fruity Pebbles.
I liked his body, I admit it, and he liked my potential. I guess he was going to shape me up too, so I could be a self-obsessed, freak-of-nature muscle mass like him. He started making these comments like, “We should start you out on little walks.” He called them “walkies,” isn’t that adorable? As if that might make actual exercise cuter and less intimidating to me. He jiggled my butt. He brought me sushi, when I hate sushi. He was one of those guys you feel you have to try hard to be equal to—as in shape as he is, as intelligent, as whatever. The kind you’re slightly uneasy around because you know that deep down, he feels you don’t measure up. Gavin—he brings me peanut butter cookies. He hates sushi too. With Gavin, I relax.
Anyway, it all blew up in my face one day when I told Terrence I wanted to study child psychology, and he laughed and said that’s what people did who had fucked-up childhoods.It was a cliché, he said. You’re going to counsel people on how to run their lives? I said, “What do you mean by that?” And he said, “You don’t even see your own father. You have self-esteem issues.”
And then suddenly, I realized he was right. I did have self-esteem issues. He was living, breathing, weight-lifting proof. He’d started to say things like, “Why do you wait so long before shifting into third? It’s bad for your engine.” “Why do you eat so fast?” Why do you everything, anything. And I just kept my mouth shut. He was always telling me how I felt and who I was, too. “You’re just upset because…” “You’re an overly sensitive person….” He was wrong 85 percent of the time, but all that mattered to him was his own version of me. I’d tell him how I did feel, and he’d shove it aside like he knew me better than I knew myself. It was bullshit.
It was bullshit, and it was my dad all over again. He has a whole relationship with a you that’s not even you. It reminded me of when I was a kid, right around the sixth grade. I’d put on weight and Barry, who has always thought he was Mr. Beautiful, was on this running kick at the time. He’d lecture me about carbs and shit and how I needed to be in control of food and not let it be in control of me, and he’d take pinches of me and say things like, “What do we have here?” Thank you very much. One more way I wasn’t good enough for him. And he’d given me all this shit about what I was going to study in college too. You know, all the two times he happened
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