Read Online The Unlikely Hero of Room 13B by Teresa Toten - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Teresa Toten
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Adam. Ugly, ugly garbage.”
Three sets, then. One, three, five, seven …
She shut the cupboard door, trembling just a little. “Thelast one … the last one said I had to die, that I was a maggot polluting the world, that I was a—” She did not look at her son. He did not look at her.
Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, nineteen …
“It said I sucked up too much oxygen and was a greedy, selfish bitch.” She turned to Adam, utterly confused. “Who talks like that?”
Twenty-three, twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one … Wait, wait! The numbers were wrong. It was a nine count. Stupid, stupid!
She caught him tapping out of the corner of her eye and winced.
One, three, five, seven …
Carmella threw away the bits of letter along with the junk mail, their telephone bill and what looked like a reminder from Dr. Dave’s dental office. He’d have to retrieve those later. Adam finally handed her the plate.
“You’re right, Mom. It sounds like some demented kid, or a pissed-off patient.”
He heard her exhale. “Yeah, see? It’s like I was telling you: it’s some kind of prank.” She helped herself to potatoes and chicken and a stiff shot of vodka over ice. “I’m going up to eat this in my room, okay? I’m so beat. You have a good time with Ben tonight. Don’t get home too late, though. You got enough money for the bus back?”
He nodded.
“Adam, honey?” Her voice slipped like a silk scarf.
He lifted his plate and tapped underneath it as he ladled on the chicken and potatoes.
Twenty-nine, thirty-one. One, three, five …
“You know we can’t talk about it, right? Not to anyone.”
“Yeah, sure. But what if—”
Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen …
“No! This is all connected to me, Adam. It’s all a part of it. It’s like the house.” She leaned against the doorway. “
They
will use it as an excuse to …”
“Yeah, I know.”
Twenty-one, twenty-three …
“Of course you do.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you so much.” She kissed him again before she turned and left.
Adam was counting with fingers raised and into a thirties set when Ben rang the bell. He hadn’t touched his chicken, couldn’t eat. Without missing any finger movements, Adam retrieved some letter pieces from the garbage, along with the telephone bill and Dr. Dave’s appointment reminder. He shoved them all in his pocket and dumped his untouched chicken in their place. Then he grabbed his jacket and ran for the door.
“Dude!” Ben punched him in the shoulder. “Are you ready for an epic game? It’ll be massive, can ya dig it?”
Dig it? Ben must have taken a shuttle back to the 1970s. He did that on occasion. Adam nodded.
Twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one. One …
What
was
epic was just seeing his friend.
Three, five, seven, nine, eleven …
Ben glanced back at Adam as he locked up. Adam knew he’d spied the telltale finger raises.
They both got into the car, and as they did, Mr. Stone turned around to face the boys. “Adam, great to see you, son.”
“Thank you, sir.” And they were off.
Son
. Adam loved that word coming out of Mr. Stone’s mouth.
Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three …
“Dude?” Ben whispered. “You counting?”
“Yeah.” Adam nodded.
Twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one
.
Ben slumped into the back seat. “It’s cool, okay? Relax, I can dig it.”
“Thanks, man.”
One, three, five, seven …
CHAPTER 11
Adam’s cellphone vibrated. He didn’t even know it had that feature. But there it was, rattling down his desk like a cockroach caught in a kitchen light. The phone was at least a hundred and seventy-three years old. It used to be Carmella’s and it had less than no features. Well, except apparently it vibrated. The stupid thing could barely rouse itself to execute a phone call. Texting made it lethargic and in need of an immediate battery resuscitation. And the phone was a
Three sets, then. One, three, five, seven …
She shut the cupboard door, trembling just a little. “Thelast one … the last one said I had to die, that I was a maggot polluting the world, that I was a—” She did not look at her son. He did not look at her.
Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen, nineteen …
“It said I sucked up too much oxygen and was a greedy, selfish bitch.” She turned to Adam, utterly confused. “Who talks like that?”
Twenty-three, twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one … Wait, wait! The numbers were wrong. It was a nine count. Stupid, stupid!
She caught him tapping out of the corner of her eye and winced.
One, three, five, seven …
Carmella threw away the bits of letter along with the junk mail, their telephone bill and what looked like a reminder from Dr. Dave’s dental office. He’d have to retrieve those later. Adam finally handed her the plate.
“You’re right, Mom. It sounds like some demented kid, or a pissed-off patient.”
He heard her exhale. “Yeah, see? It’s like I was telling you: it’s some kind of prank.” She helped herself to potatoes and chicken and a stiff shot of vodka over ice. “I’m going up to eat this in my room, okay? I’m so beat. You have a good time with Ben tonight. Don’t get home too late, though. You got enough money for the bus back?”
He nodded.
“Adam, honey?” Her voice slipped like a silk scarf.
He lifted his plate and tapped underneath it as he ladled on the chicken and potatoes.
Twenty-nine, thirty-one. One, three, five …
“You know we can’t talk about it, right? Not to anyone.”
“Yeah, sure. But what if—”
Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen …
“No! This is all connected to me, Adam. It’s all a part of it. It’s like the house.” She leaned against the doorway. “
They
will use it as an excuse to …”
“Yeah, I know.”
Twenty-one, twenty-three …
“Of course you do.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you so much.” She kissed him again before she turned and left.
Adam was counting with fingers raised and into a thirties set when Ben rang the bell. He hadn’t touched his chicken, couldn’t eat. Without missing any finger movements, Adam retrieved some letter pieces from the garbage, along with the telephone bill and Dr. Dave’s appointment reminder. He shoved them all in his pocket and dumped his untouched chicken in their place. Then he grabbed his jacket and ran for the door.
“Dude!” Ben punched him in the shoulder. “Are you ready for an epic game? It’ll be massive, can ya dig it?”
Dig it? Ben must have taken a shuttle back to the 1970s. He did that on occasion. Adam nodded.
Twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one. One …
What
was
epic was just seeing his friend.
Three, five, seven, nine, eleven …
Ben glanced back at Adam as he locked up. Adam knew he’d spied the telltale finger raises.
They both got into the car, and as they did, Mr. Stone turned around to face the boys. “Adam, great to see you, son.”
“Thank you, sir.” And they were off.
Son
. Adam loved that word coming out of Mr. Stone’s mouth.
Seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three …
“Dude?” Ben whispered. “You counting?”
“Yeah.” Adam nodded.
Twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one
.
Ben slumped into the back seat. “It’s cool, okay? Relax, I can dig it.”
“Thanks, man.”
One, three, five, seven …
CHAPTER 11
Adam’s cellphone vibrated. He didn’t even know it had that feature. But there it was, rattling down his desk like a cockroach caught in a kitchen light. The phone was at least a hundred and seventy-three years old. It used to be Carmella’s and it had less than no features. Well, except apparently it vibrated. The stupid thing could barely rouse itself to execute a phone call. Texting made it lethargic and in need of an immediate battery resuscitation. And the phone was a
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