A Room on Lorelei Street Read Online Free Page B

Daddy died it was decided that Mama couldn’t handle nine-year-old “boy energy” for a while. He would go stay with Aunt Patsy and Uncle Clint—just till Mama got over it. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks, but then those few turned into a few more, and then more, and soon everyone seemed to forget that Kyle had ever lived with Mama and Zoe. Even when Aunt Patsy got sick, Kyle stayed. Everyone acted like it was normal, and Zoe stopped asking when he would come back home, because she knew he wouldn’t. It was never considered that maybe Zoe should go live with Aunt Patsy and Uncle Clint, too. When Zoe brought it up to Grandma, she frowned and said, “No. Your mama needs you. You need to be here. Besides, there isn’t any room for you at Clint and Patsy’s.”
    Zoe leans forward in the darkness, her fingers digging into her face.
    No room.

Six
    Zoe sits in a chair in the hallway. Waiting. Mrs. Farantino is expecting her, the secretary says. Zoe leans to the side and peers in the office. It is empty. If Mrs. Farantino is expecting her, where is she? Zoe wonders. Probably in the lounge finishing her bagel and coffee. Zoe comes after bagel and coffee but before potty break. She smiles, wondering if this is how she will have to amuse herself all day—figuring out where she fits in.
    Somehow, a one-day suspension doesn’t bother her. She has done it before. Last year, for ditching class, she was suspended from class. The irony still amuses her. It’s the counseling that nags at her. Mrs. Farantino has known Zoe since she skipped her first class when she was a freshman, but this is the first time formal counseling has been ordered.
    The air-conditioning vent above her head rumbles. Get out of it, she hears. She will. She is not going to play the spill-your-guts game with anyone. The secretary taps her pencil as she stares at her computer screen. Her desk is a piled mess of papers, pencil cups, and clutter, but Zoe focuses on a small potted plant on the corner. Violets. Fresh, blooming, well-watered violets. She looks away. Where is she? Zoe wonders. How long does one freakin’ bagel take? But Mrs. Farantino still doesn’t come.
    The violets creep back into her vision. She leans forward, remembers. Bits. Turns. Beginnings. Mama sad. Crying. Days of crying. It began with the potted violets that Daddy forgot to water. They screamed at each other. A glass was broken. Daddy slammed the door. Zoe pulled a kitchen chair over to the sink and filled a cup. She watered the violets on the sill, but they were already dead. Four days later Mama and Daddy are still sad-mad, and Zoe dresses up in the purple flowery dress Aunt Nadine sent her for her seventh birthday. She dances around the room. She tries to make them smile, desperate tiptoe dancing because she wants to make it better. Wanting . Always that. An almost-there kind of hope that keeps her swirling and twirling. But the dead violets on the windowsill are the only flowers that matter. Zoe wishes she had noticed. She should have. She should have watered the violets. What if she had?
    â€œCome on in, Zoe.” Mrs. Farantino catches Zoe by surprise, briskly turning a corner and walking straight into her office. Zoe follows and waits to be told where to sit. There are four chairs. Zoe looks at one in the far corner. Mrs. Farantino points to a chair close to her own and Zoe sits. Mrs. Farantino flips through some paperwork while Zoe looks around the room. Posters of smiling teens fill the walls with phrases like “We’re in this together” and “One step at a time.” Really, Zoe thinks.
    The room is cluttered with stacks of papers, greeting cards haphazardly tacked to the walls, boxes of books, two backpacks lying on the floor in the corner, and Post-it notes placed all around the edges of the computer and along the ledge of a bookcase. Mrs. Farantino is one of three counselors at Ruby High. She counsels