Read Online Zigzag by Ellen Wittlinger - Free Book Online Page A

both of them going off to fancy private colleges next year.
    And what the heck did he mean, he’d never been so excited in his life? Never? Thank you very much, Mr. Roman Holiday. We may not have any forums or basilicas here in Cornpone, Iowa, but you used to find your hick girlfriend pretty exciting.
    What was I supposed to write back about? Shopping with Franny? Eating steak with Michael Evans? No, there was nothing I could say that would compete with the Spanish Steps, whatever they were. I’d just have to wait to write him back until my own trip started—maybe then my life wouldn’t sound so utterly boring.
    I threw the letter in my desk drawer, but then I took it out again and looked at my name on the envelope in Chris’s slanty handwriting. Could this be all I had left of him? I tucked the letter under my pillow and went downstairs to hunt for food.

T he bedraggled little group that climbed out of Aunt Dory’s minivan at two o’clock did not raise my hopes about the quality of the journey I was about to begin. Dory had a frozen grin on her face as Marshall tripped Iris and Iris immediately swung around and kicked him in the rear. If things were this bad after only a few hours, what were the chances of surviving the summer together?
    Mom had taken the day off from work and we’d fixed a big salad and some tuna fish sandwiches for lunch because Dory was “certain” they’d be here by noon. It was hard to figure out just why they were two hours late—each of them had a different story.
    â€œMom got lost the minute we left Chicago,” Marshall said. “She got off the highway at the wrong place.”
    â€œThat was a minor problem,” Dory said, then gave her version of events. “If Iris had hung up the phone when I asked her to instead of calling all her friends one last time . . .”
    â€œDon’t blame me, ” Iris chimed in. “Marshall’s the one who kept repacking his suitcase so he could bring everything he owns.” She ripped her streaked blond hair out of the clip that pinned it high on her head, twirled the hair around her fingers, and then stuck itback in the clip so it looked messier than before.
    â€œ Me ? You have a separate suitcase just for shoes!”
    We gave each other some halfway hugs, the kind where you’re not really too interested in touching the other person, but you’re related to them, so you have to pretend you’re glad to see them. “Well, you’re here now, so let’s have some lunch,” Mom said, leading them into the house. “You’ll feel better after that,”
    Dory scrunched up her face. “Oh, Karen, you’ll kill me. The kids were so crabby I stopped at a McDonald’s about an hour ago.”
    Typical Dory. Anything those kids want, all they have to do is whine.
    Mom gave them some iced tea and we took the salad and sandwiches into the dining room so whoever wanted something could have it. Iris picked a few lettuce leaves out of the bowl and half a cherry tomato. I snagged two sandwich halves and loaded my plate with salad. Iris watched in horror as I doused the salad with blue cheese dressing.
    â€œYou don’t like blue cheese?” I asked.
    Dory answered before Iris could. “She’s gotten picky about what she eats. You know how girls are—so weight conscious.”
    I’d noticed Iris had lost weight since her father’s funeral. Thirteen years of baby fat had begun to remold itself into a teenage girl’s body, and a pretty good one, too. I remembered when my own stomach suddenly became concave and my breasts began to puff up, as if somebody had squeezed my tube in the middle and pushed everything up to the top. I took a quick minute to stare at Iris—she looked older to me, too, and I wondered if her father’s death had done that. She’d always had that tight-looking face, as if she was holding back a blast of