Read Online Tonight the Streets Are Ours by Leila Sales - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leila Sales
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George hadn’t heard from her. Arden had the surprising realization that she didn’t know who else her mother would go to after she stormed away from home. Unlike her father, who had his fantasy sports leagues and work buddies, her mother seemed to be friendly to everyone and close to no one outside of the family. Who would she go to in a moment of crisis? Where would she be, other than here?
The three remaining Huntleys waited up for her, sitting in the dark on the living room couch, the TV on without any of them processing what program it was showing. Roman passed out first, followed sometime thereafter by their father, until at last only Arden was left awake, watching the lights from the television screen cast flickering shadows across their faces. She waited and waited. But her mother never came home that night. When she did return, it was two days later, while the kids were at school. But that was only to pack a suitcase before heading out again.
And now weeks had passed. The Super Bowl had been played, Roman’s basketball team had lost five games, Arden had been suspended from school and returned to school and attended her first supposedly cool party. Life was marching on. And still, her mother was gone.
Arden realizes that the grass is always greener
The day after Arden asked the Internet why doesn’t anybody love me as much as I love them? and discovered Tonight the Streets Are Ours, she and Chris went shopping for props for the spring musical, American Fairy Tale , a nonsensical, borderline hallucinatory debut written by Mr. Lansdowne, the theater teacher, in what Arden considered to be a serious abuse of power. Chris picked her up early in his car. He didn’t like to drive in Arden’s car because he said it was likely to break down or explode at any minute, which was, quite frankly, a fair critique. Chris drove a three-year-old Honda Accord with automatic locks and working air bags. He liked to play it safe.
“How was last night?” Arden asked once she was settled in the passenger seat.
“So fun. We played some games and watched a movie. You’d have loved it.”
This was what Arden’s boyfriend and their theater friends did literally every single Friday night. Trust Chris to present it like it was the most exciting activity ever.
And—though Arden had never even hinted as much to her boyfriend—she didn’t actually enjoy playing theater games. That’s why she did stage crew in the first place—so she could be backstage, where if she made a fool of herself, no one would see. Chris Jump had something in him, like at the level of DNA, where he didn’t care if he made a fool of himself. Or maybe he didn’t even know how to look foolish. In their ten months of dating, Arden had never seen Chris do anything remotely embarrassing.
“How was the rest of Matt Washington’s party?” Chris asked, turning onto the main road.
Arden shrugged. She didn’t want to admit that it had been a total bust, because Chris would probably say, “I told you so,” and, “I don’t know why you even went in the first place when you could have come with me.” So Arden just said, “Lindsey finally asked out Denise Alpert.”
“Whoa. How’d that go?”
“Well, she didn’t say yes. Beth and Jennie also offered some choice opinions on the matter.”
Chris snorted. “I’m not surprised. What did Lindsey think was going to happen?”
Arden couldn’t answer that question, because that was the thing about Lindsey: she didn’t think. She wasn’t doing some statistical analysis of the likelihood of Denise saying yes or no. She was just guided by hope.
“Dumb move,” Chris said, with a smug knowingness that made Arden want to strangle him. Chris had never come out and said it, but it was clear that he didn’t like Lindsey very much, probably because she was constantly making “dumb moves” like asking out straight girls or oversleeping or forgetting about math tests—all of which Chris found to be
The three remaining Huntleys waited up for her, sitting in the dark on the living room couch, the TV on without any of them processing what program it was showing. Roman passed out first, followed sometime thereafter by their father, until at last only Arden was left awake, watching the lights from the television screen cast flickering shadows across their faces. She waited and waited. But her mother never came home that night. When she did return, it was two days later, while the kids were at school. But that was only to pack a suitcase before heading out again.
And now weeks had passed. The Super Bowl had been played, Roman’s basketball team had lost five games, Arden had been suspended from school and returned to school and attended her first supposedly cool party. Life was marching on. And still, her mother was gone.
Arden realizes that the grass is always greener
The day after Arden asked the Internet why doesn’t anybody love me as much as I love them? and discovered Tonight the Streets Are Ours, she and Chris went shopping for props for the spring musical, American Fairy Tale , a nonsensical, borderline hallucinatory debut written by Mr. Lansdowne, the theater teacher, in what Arden considered to be a serious abuse of power. Chris picked her up early in his car. He didn’t like to drive in Arden’s car because he said it was likely to break down or explode at any minute, which was, quite frankly, a fair critique. Chris drove a three-year-old Honda Accord with automatic locks and working air bags. He liked to play it safe.
“How was last night?” Arden asked once she was settled in the passenger seat.
“So fun. We played some games and watched a movie. You’d have loved it.”
This was what Arden’s boyfriend and their theater friends did literally every single Friday night. Trust Chris to present it like it was the most exciting activity ever.
And—though Arden had never even hinted as much to her boyfriend—she didn’t actually enjoy playing theater games. That’s why she did stage crew in the first place—so she could be backstage, where if she made a fool of herself, no one would see. Chris Jump had something in him, like at the level of DNA, where he didn’t care if he made a fool of himself. Or maybe he didn’t even know how to look foolish. In their ten months of dating, Arden had never seen Chris do anything remotely embarrassing.
“How was the rest of Matt Washington’s party?” Chris asked, turning onto the main road.
Arden shrugged. She didn’t want to admit that it had been a total bust, because Chris would probably say, “I told you so,” and, “I don’t know why you even went in the first place when you could have come with me.” So Arden just said, “Lindsey finally asked out Denise Alpert.”
“Whoa. How’d that go?”
“Well, she didn’t say yes. Beth and Jennie also offered some choice opinions on the matter.”
Chris snorted. “I’m not surprised. What did Lindsey think was going to happen?”
Arden couldn’t answer that question, because that was the thing about Lindsey: she didn’t think. She wasn’t doing some statistical analysis of the likelihood of Denise saying yes or no. She was just guided by hope.
“Dumb move,” Chris said, with a smug knowingness that made Arden want to strangle him. Chris had never come out and said it, but it was clear that he didn’t like Lindsey very much, probably because she was constantly making “dumb moves” like asking out straight girls or oversleeping or forgetting about math tests—all of which Chris found to be
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