Read Online This Is Me From Now On by Barbara Dee - Free Book Online

house stayed dark and quiet. So then Francesca pulled off her poncho, kicked off her cowboy boots, and turned on every light in the entry. Way down the front hall I spottedsomething lumpish and gray, like a dusty old bedroom slipper. Suddenly it hopped away.
    â€œTopaz!” Francesca cried. “Have you been chewing up the rugs again?”
    â€œWas that a
rabbit
?” I practically shrieked.
    She nodded, laughing. “Aunt Sam’s true loves. Other than gorgeous Tristan, but alas, he broke her heart.”
    â€œWait. Wait. Her heart was broken by a
rabbit
?”
    â€œWhat? No, Evie, don’t be an imbecile. Tristan Royce is an
actor.
Was. In the play that just ended.” Francesca walked into the living room, which had huge, cream-colored pillows, and CDs, all over the floor, and the heavy leftover wine-and-perfume smell of Samantha’s party. One corner of the coffee-colored rug was in shreds; Francesca got on her knees and tied the wool strands into little knots, then tucked them underneath.
    â€œSo, anyway,” she continued calmly, as if covering up for rabbit vandalism was something she did all the time, “now they’re both looking for new acting jobs. And new relationships, too. It’s all so deeply tragic, don’t you think? Oh well, c’est la vie. Are you hungry?”
    â€œStarving.” All I’d had for lunch was Sun Chips, and I’dbarely eaten those. I followed Francesca into the stainless-steel kitchen, which looked shiny and empty, as if it had been used maybe a total of three times. She opened the enormous fridge.
    â€œTake what you want,” she said, waving her hand. “We’re absolutely loaded from the party. None of those actors ever eat anything, so we’ll be living off this junk
forever.
”
    I looked inside. Someone—was it Samantha?—had crammed in all the leftovers without wrapping anything, so it was like this one big cheese puff/sushi/guacamole/salsa/ shish-kebob stew. Plus in the way back of the fridge there were huge Glad bags of lettuce leaves, which I guessed was what Topaz and Tourmaline ate when they weren’t gorging on wool.
    â€œUh, thanks. Maybe later,” I said.
    Francesca looked disappointed. Then suddenly her eyes widened. “I know,” she said.
    She opened the freezer and pulled out five quarts of I Scream—Triple Fudge Marshmallow Chunk, Golden Brownie with Caramel Fudge Ripple, Peanut Butter Chip Cookie Dough, plus two others with the labels peeled off—and then grabbed two spoons.
    I stared in shock. “More party food?”
    â€œOh, no. Actors don’t eat
ice cream
. Well, actually, Aunt Sam sneak-eats it late at night when she thinks I’m asleep. Here.” She handed me a spoon. “So does Grace sneak-eat?”
    â€œGrace? Of course not. She’s way too self-disciplined.”
    â€œOh, I bet she does, Evie. To work off all that academic stress. What about your mom?”
    I laughed. “
Never.”
    She pulled off all five lids and licked the insides. “Veggie burgers and salad every night for dinner, right? God, you must be so sick of it.”
    â€œWell, sometimes,” I admitted. “But of course it’s good for you. I mean, you’re supposed to eat that way, right?”
    â€œI guess.” She screwed up her face. “But I really just detest all those bloody
rules.
”
    I dipped my spoon into the Triple Fudge Marshmallow Chunk: just the perfect temperature, slightly melty, but not soup. “Was that why you left your old school?” I asked casually.
    â€œBecause of the food? Don’t be silly.” She took a gigantic spoonful of Unlabeled. Then she grinned at me. “Evie,” she said. “Here’s a burning question: Do you think Espee sneak-eats?”
    I laughed so hard, a gob of marshmallow went up my nose.
“What?”
    â€œBecause I’m positive she does. Here’s my theory: I