Be Good Be Real Be Crazy Read Online Free Page B

underwater. “And I read somewhere that people shouldn’t fly in the last three months of pregnancy,” he added, cringing at how his desperation clung to every syllable.
    â€œI’m not flying. No way. The bus isn’t so bad. Sometimes you can even get two seats all to yourself.” Mia rolled so her back was again to Homer. “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”
    â€œOkay.” Homer didn’t trust himself to say much more, but after turning off the light and pulling the door nearly shut, he remembered something. “Mia?”
    â€œUh-huh?”
    â€œYou never said what you’d do differently.”
    â€œHmmm,” Mia hummed into her pillow. “I would have brought marshmallows.”
    Homer smiled and gently pulled the door all the way closed.
    â€œAren’t you supposed to sleep until noon during your last high school winter break? You keep this up, I’ll have to ask Einstein to tutor you in Being a Teenager 101.”
    Homer lifted his forehead off the kitchen table just enough to be able to see D.B. leaning in the kitchen doorway. “It’s a little early for sarcasm, don’t you think?”
    â€œThat depends. Are you being sarcastic?” D.B. stretched his arms above his head, reaching for the ceiling. Even when he rose to his tiptoes, he was a couple of inches shy of reaching it. “Ugh. You kids are making me shrink. I used—”
    â€œTo be six feet tall and able to float like a feather. So you’ve said.” Homer folded his arms on the table and rested his cheek on them. “I made coffee.”
    â€œI know. I could smell it from down the hall.” D.B. shuffled toward the French press and the mugs Homer had set up on the counter. His brown-and-gray hair was flat on one side of his head, while on the other it stuck out at all angles. When he turned around, his expression had changed completely. “Wow. It took me until this moment to remember: Mia set her boat on fire. You slept on the sofa bed. Shit.” D.B. rubbed at his eyes. “The universe needs to give that kid a break.” He dropped his hands. “Please don’t tell your other dad I said ‘shit.’”
    â€œOh, I won’t.” Homer wanted to say something more, but his sleep-deprived brain wouldn’t let him pull together the right words. Even when D.B. was stressed or angry or disappointed, he kept a hint of his regular smile in his eyes. Homer could count on two hands the number of times he’d seen his dad unhappy.
    â€œWant a cup?” D.B. held up the French press.
    â€œSure,” Homer said. “Thanks.”
    D.B. slid a mug with a dancing plantain on one side and “Life Is Bonita on La Isla de Plátanos” on the other across the table to Homer, and followed that up with the carton of cream and the sugar bowl. Then he sat in the chair directly across from Homer and added cream and sugar to his own mug. D.B. was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the rings his overflowing mug had left across the table or the coffee that dripped off the mug’s handle onto his T-shirt. Or maybe he did notice and just didn’t care.
    â€œMia fall asleep okay?”
    â€œI think so. We talked for a few minutes, but she started yawning, so I left her alone.” Homer reached for the sugar and added a spoonful to his mug. He didn’t normally drink sweet coffee, but he needed something to do with his hands.
    â€œHomes, has Mia mentioned anything to you about her plans?”
    Homer looked up from his twirling spoon. D.B. was leaning toward him, his arms crossed on the table, everything about his expression and posture demonstrating what a great dad he was. Warm, generous, and caring. How did I get so lucky? The thought should have filled Homer with gratitude, but that morning it flooded him with guilt. It’s not fair. Why did I get my dads and Mia didn’t get anyone?
    â€œHomes? Burn