Read Online Then I Met My Sister by Christine Hurley Deriso - Free Book Online

extrovert when I was younger. I kind of outgrew that.”
    “Why?” I press. “Why would you stop doing things that you enjoyed?”
    She looks annoyed. “Honestly, Summer, life’s not about enjoying yourself all the time .”
    Whatever mood I’d caught Mom in five minutes earlier has officially passed. She’s back.
    My face flushes, and then Mom’s eyes soften. She reaches out and gently squeezes my arm. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she says, then takes a deep breath. “Okay. Why did I quit joining things. Let’s see. I got my realtor’s license when you started kindergarten, and that’s kept me plenty busy, as you know.”
    I nod. Her eyes stay locked with mine. She’s not finished.
    “You know,” she says softly, “I used to think I had it all figured out. If I do A , then I can count on B . But you can’t really count on anything. Control is just an illusion.”
    God. It is possible to have a conversation with my mother. Have I just never really tried before?
    Mom looks in my eyes and smiles wearily. “I don’t mean to bore you with my philosophizing, honey. Actually, I don’t do much of that anymore, either. Kind of like the book club, I guess. Some things just … fade away.”
    She pats my arm, her fingers cool against my skin. Then she picks up her laundry basket. “Now, honey, please, I’ve got to get my laundry done.”
    “Okay.” That’s all I say.
    I don’t tell her what I’m thinking: Sorry, Mom, but I don’t believe you’ve changed as much as you think you have.

Eleven
    “For you.”
    I glance up from my history book and see Gibs standing in front of me holding a dandelion.
    “For good luck on your history test,” he clarifies.
    I smile, take the dandelion, blow the tendrils playfully in his face, then pat the space next to me on the picnic bench. He sits beside me.
    “I’ll miss jock patrol,” I tell him wistfully.
    I’ve long since blown off the cafeteria scene at school, preferring the solitude of the picnic table under a magnolia tree by the gym. I used to sit here alone reading a book during lunch, but Gibs has been joining me since we became friends. We observe sweaty athletes filing out of the gym in their basketball shorts and muscle shirts, or watch the drill team or cheerleaders practicing on the lawn, and feel infinitely above it all as we make corresponding snotty remarks.
    Well, I should clarify. Gibs doesn’t feel infinitely above anybody (he’s the most humble guy I know), and he seldom makes snotty remarks. But he’s a good enough sport to laugh at mine. Jock patrol is the highlight of my day, thanks to Gibs.
    “I’ll miss it, too,” he says. “But I’ve already reserved this picnic bench for senior year. And we can hang out this summer, right?”
    I fake-pout. “Mom’s sentenced me to hard labor, remember?”
    Gibs’ eyes narrow.
    “My aunt’s flower shop,” I remind him.
    “Oh, right. How often do you work?”
    I shrug. “I don’t go back until Saturday. But after school is out, Aunt Nic will probably start giving me weekday hours. I’m sure we’ll have time to hang out, though. Just you, me, and my raging allergies.”
    Leah Rollins and Kendall Popwell walk past the gym in shorts and cheerleading T-shirts, offering fluttery waves as they approach Gibs and me. Both girls’ hair is flat-ironed into sleek, smooth submission—Leah’s brown, Kendall’s bottle-blond. Kendall is prettier but Leah is skinnier, and thinness trumps all in their circles. Besides, Leah’s always the center of the universe, so Kendall just sort of orbits around her. I cringe, recalling my stint as Orbiter-in-Chief.
    Gibs waves back gamely.
    “How’d you do on the Chaucer test?” Leah asks him.
    “Okay, I think,” Gibs says.
    Kendall snorts. “‘Okay’ probably means an A plus in Gibs’ world,” she says.
    He’s brushing off the compliment, explaining that Chaucer was really tough for him (yeah, right), but I’m not paying attention. A slow boil is