Read Online Underneath by Sarah Jamila Stevenson - Free Book Online Page A

massage my tired hand. Then I get up and stare into the mirror on my closet door. It seems as if I should look different. Have sparkles around my head or weird shimmery eyes like a character in a TV show. But I look the same as I always did. Just with worse hair.
    Is my life going to change now? I can’t imagine it changing more than it already has. I don’t even know if my underhearing is going to stay forever or just disappear one day. But I’ve figured something out about it, figured out when it happens, and that makes me feel a little less out of control. Less scared.

    The next morning, I’m lying on my stomach across the bed, Pixie purring next to me and my journal open to the page with the charts, when my mom opens the door without knocking. I turn my head, startled, and she breezes in, wearing one of her trademark long Indian-print skirts. She takes one look at the diary and a grin appears on her face.
    â€œOh, baby Sunshine, I am so happy to see—” I glare at her pointedly and she cuts her sentence short. “Anyway. Well. If there’s ever anything—”
    â€œI know , Mom,” I say, hurriedly, and slam the diary shut. “Thanks,” I add. I don’t want her to get nosy, start asking questions I don’t know how to answer. I mean, my mom is a little bit out there, but it’s not like she believes in magic or ghosts or anything supernatural. At least, I don’t think so. Not like some of her crazy dippy friends.
    Mom paces over to the window and opens the curtains, flooding the room with painfully bright light. I squint. “Don’t forget Auntie Mina’s coming over this afternoon,” she says, leaning against my desk and smiling a little. “We need to get her out of that house for a while . And I bought a vanilla chai tea blend I think she’s going to love.”
    That house. I can’t even remember when we first started to call it that. But when I got older, I could see for myself how Uncle Randall was when he’d get into his “moods.” He’d have everybody walking on eggshells, hoping not to say the wrong thing. And it seemed like it got worse after Number Two moved out and Shiri started high school.
    Maybe that’s why she was such an overachiever back then, going out for tennis team and spending time in after-school study hall on days when she didn’t have tennis practice. Going to as many SAT and AP prep classes as she could. Was she trying to make her dad happy, or just trying to stay out of the way?
    â€œSunny?” Mom says, looking at me. I shake myself a little. I know she asked me a question, but I have no idea what it was.
    â€œSorry. Guess I’m a little distracted.” I sit up and try to look attentive.
    â€œI asked if you’d like to sit with me later this evening and go through some family photos,” Mom says, picking at a loose thread on her skirt. “I was hoping to make a scrapbook for Mina that we can give her, later, when she’s ready, to help her preserve the good memories of—everything.” Her eyes are shining. I can’t deal with my mom crying, so I nod, just so we can end this conversation. But I don’t know how I can bear to go through photos.
    â€œOh, good. I’m so glad you said yes. I’ve been feeling like I need some moral support these days,” she continues, “with you and your father keeping everything so bottled up. You’re like two peas in a pod.”
    I scowl and stow the journal safely in my desk drawer, on top of Shiri’s journal. I love my mom, but she takes the touchy-feely thing a little too far sometimes.
    She smiles a little and straightens up, wandering back toward the door. “Oh! And I invited Antonia to come over later tonight to help us with the scrapbooking. She’s got such a fabulous collection of supplies—rubber stamps, glitter, rickrack, stickers … I thought it would cheer us