Read Online Trauma Queen by Barbara Dee - Free Book Online Page A

move.
    â€œYou look like Frankenstein,” Kennedy says, giggling. “Or the Tin Woodsman. Or wait. What’s the name of that robot in Star Wars ?”
    â€œC- 3 PO,” I mutter. But it’s good to hear her laugh, for a change.
    Mom offers to walk with me, and I decide not to fight her on this because by now I’m feeling guilty about yelling at her before. She puts Beezer on his leash, we drop off Kennedy at her bus stop, and then pick up Tristan and Darla for Morning Walk.
    Finally all five of us (two humans, three dogs) start the long, icy, uphill walk to school, with only one timeout for leash de-tangling. Mom walks Beezer and Darla, and I walk Tristan. Who, I quickly discover, is a definite yanker, so I have to keep his leash long enough so that he doesn’t freak out, but short enough so that I’m in control. It’s tricky at first, but finally we settle into a good dogwalking rhythm. And Mom is actually right: The more I walk, the more the clothes loosen up, to the point where they almost feel like clothes. I only hope they’re not too sweaty by the time I get to school.
    â€œSo how’s the social thing going?” Mom asks casually, just as we’re getting close to the main entrance of Crampton Middle. As you’ve probably figured out by now, she has this flair for dramatic timing.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I say.
    Two buses pull up right in front of the school, one right after the other. The first bus opens its doors, and out comes Brody. “Hey, Bananas,” he calls, crashing on purpose into Ethan, who pushes him back. Layla follows them both, her shoulders swaying, looking like maybe she’s listening to her iPod. Then the second bus opens and Quinn rushes out. I wave at her, but she runs past without saying hello, without lifting her head, even.
    â€œYou’re friends with that girl?” Mom asks, darting her eyes at me.
    â€œNot really. We just had lunch together yesterday.”
    â€œThat sounds like friends.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œSo she might be a friend?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œIs she nice?”
    â€œI guess.”
    Mom sighs a little puff-cloud. “Boy, I really cherish these mother-daughter chats,” she says. “So much sharing. And how was Emma?”
    â€œEmma’s great.” I reel in Tristan, who’s sniffing an empty Gatorade bottle rolling around a dirty snowdrift.
    Mom tugs on the earflaps of her rainbow-striped sherpa hat. Then she takes the leash from me and winds it three times around her mittens. “Is she still mad at me?”
    â€œShe says she isn’t. We couldn’t talk a whole lot.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œShe had to hang up.” Then for some moronic reason I add, “Her mom doesn’t want her on the phone with me.”
    â€œWhat? Are you kidding me? Why? ”
    I shrug. It’s not often I can shock Mom, so as long as I’ve opened my mouth about this, I might as well get the full effect. “We have to sneak IMs. But her mom looks over her shoulder a lot, so we can’t even do that very much.”
    â€œBut that’s outrageous!” Mom explodes. “That woman is completely bonkers. First she bad-mouths me all over town, then she forces us to move, and now she’s punishing you and Emma? Long-distance? For what ?”
    â€œWell,” I say, kicking some ice. “You kind of do know.”
    She shakes her head angrily, sproinging the hair under her hat. “Look, Mari. Even if, okay, so I got a little carried away with Nu-Trisha, does this give her the right to wreak revenge on my daughter? Months after the performance? And I’m not even mentioning what she’s doing to her own daughter.” She jerks Darla’s leash. “You know, I kept my mouth shut after Nu-Trisha, I thought I needed to take the high road, but enough is enough. It’s time to sit down with Trisha Hartley and have a