All Shook Up Read Online Free Page A

me a frustrated look, as if I wasn’t reacting the way he wanted. “That’s okay, just forget it.” He stood up slowly, creaking upward on one black leather knee, and came over to the table. I could see now that the orange color was makeup. Way too much makeup. Not only that, but his palms looked like a ballpoint pen had leaked all over them.
    “What’s on your hands?”
    “Lyrics.” Dad held out his left hand, showing me how the blue smudges were words crowded into every spare inch of skin. There were even words written on each of his fingers. “All the ones I keep forgetting.” He laughed and wiped away a trickle of sweat coming down his face.
    Note to Dad: Please tell me you don’t actually go onstage with the lyrics written on your
hands.
    “So why don’t you come along tonight, Josh, and see what my show’s like? I promise I won’t embarrass you or anything. It’ll be a good time. I’m just doing a little restaurant gig down the road. Whaddaya say?”
    I think my dad really expected me to come with him. But there was no way.
No way
. Not after seeing the lyrics on his hands. And his orange face. And the ridiculous gold sunglasses. I couldn’t believe he actually went out in public, looking like he did. What did people say when they saw him at traffic lights? Or gas stations?
    My dad started down the hall, talking half like Elvis and half like Jerry Denny. “You’re gonna have to hurry up, though, because the King is already running—crap—twenty minutes late.”
    I called out from the kitchen that I didn’t really feel like going with him. That I just wanted to watch TV and hang out at home instead.
    “You sure?” My dad’s muffled voice continued down the hall, along with a lot of thumping and banging, which I could only assume was coming from things he was attempting to carry out the door. “It’s gonna be fun….”
    “That’s okay, thanks.”
    “Your choice,” he answered, and pulled the front door closed with a house-shaking thud. After he left, everything was weirdly silent. The words “Elvis has left the building” went through my head. The strong smell of my dad’s hair spray, or aftershave, or whatever he was wearing still drifted in the air. An empty guitar case was sitting smack in the middle of the hallway. The house had the feeling of being suddenly abandoned. Or maybe it was me who had the feeling of being abandoned.
    Sitting in the kitchen staring at the Colonel’s happy face on the chicken bucket, I tried to decide if what had happened since I’d arrived in Chicago belonged in the category of THINGS TO TELL MY MOM or THINGS TO KEEP TO MYSELF . This was a gray area for all divorced kids. It was like being a two-way mirror: you could reveal some important stuff between houses, but not everything.
    From past experiences, I had learned it was not a good idea to share anything related to my parents’ current dating life, anything related to presents or money they had given to me, or anything that made one house or parent seem better than the other.
    But the fact that my dad had lost his job at Murphy’s Shoes and was setting out on some crazy course to become Jerry Denny as the King seemed like something my mom ought to know. And how many nights was he really going to be gone on these “gigs”? I mean, I didn’t mind having some time on my own. I kind of liked the fact that my dad usually gave me more space than my mom, who tapped on my bedroom door about once an hour to make sure I hadn’t been abducted by aliens or knocked unconscious by kidnappers. But sitting around Chicago by myself for a few months wasn’t my idea of a good time, either.
    When a phone call interrupted the silence a few minutes later, I have to admit I was pretty relieved to hear my mom’s normal voice on the other end. At least she hadn’t turned into Elvis or any other rock-and-roll legend, as far as I could tell.
    “Are you unpacked and settled in yet?”
    I told her yes, because my mom is