Boy Minus Girl Read Online Free Page B

a master of none. But if you’re gonna apply a cliché to me, I’d rather you go with ‘a rolling stone.’ No moss on me.”
    It’s so cool the way Uncle Ray handles Mom’s jabs—he just won’t let her get to him. He pulls his red duffel bag onto his lap and unzips it. “Have a little something for each of you.”
    “Oh now, you didn’t have to go and do that,” Dad says.
    Uncle Ray removes an antique toy airplane from the bag, hands it to Dad, and says, “I realize I’m only about thirty years late on this.”
    Dad breaks out in a wide grin as he marvels at the plane. “Ray, you son of a gun. Why, it’s the spitting image—where’d you find it?”
    “Wasn’t easy, let me tell ya.”
    Dad turns to Mom and me. “When I was a boy—around seven—my favorite toy was a model B-52, just like this one. Well, one day I did something that really irked Ray and he smashed it with a brick, just flattened the thing. . . .”
    “And I haven’t heard the end of it since,” Uncle Ray says. “Till now, hopefully.”
    “I couldn’t be happier, little brother. Couldn’t be happier.”
    Hearing Dad and Uncle Ray talk about the old days makes me wish I had a brother or a sister I could one day share growing-up stories with.
    Uncle Ray reaches back into his bag as he turns to me. “Your old man tells me you’re kind of an expert on magic.” Out comes a thick old book with HOUDINI’S SECRETS pressed into the tattered black binding.
    “Thanks,” I say, trying to sound excited about receiving an old book.
    “Oh, wait, there’s one other thing.” He lifts a dark-brown leather jacket, with a sheepskin fleece lining, from the bag. “It’s a genuine bomber from World War II. Hope it fits.”
    “It’s awesome!” I say, tugging it on. “Thanks, Uncle Ray. Gonna go see how it looks!” I race into the bathroom and model it in front of the mirror for several minutes. I
love
the way it looks on me, with its worn, lived-in leather. Then I notice a white tag hanging from the bottom button: “$350.” I can’t believe Uncle Ray has spent so much. Is he rich? If so, why is he staying on my bottom bunk?
    When I return to the table, Mom is holding a small black-satin box, and Uncle Ray nods. “Go on, open it.”
    She does, and I watch her mouth fall open as she removes a bronze pin set with a red jewel.
    “It’s English,” Uncle Ray says. “From the 1880s.”
    Mom shakes her head, quickly returns the brooch to the box, and hands it back. “I—no, Ray, I cannot accept this.”
    “Well, why not?” Uncle Ray laughs, as if it’s the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard.
    “It’s far too . . . too extravagant,” Mom says. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Dad chimes in. “You deserve it, Bev.”
    “I won’t take it back,” Uncle Ray adds.
    “Well, then, it’ll just have to remain on this table.” Mom gets to her feet and starts collecting the dishes. “Les, please help me clear the table.”
    “Ray, you’ve got to see my new radio transceiver,” Dad says quickly. “Tallest antenna in town. Why, last night I talked with a fellow in South Africa—”
    “Uh, Dad,” I interrupt, “the Chinese vanishing box . . . ?”
    “Not tonight, son.” He turns back to Uncle Ray. “Anyway, that South African man sounded like he was right next door, the reception was that clear.”

    An hour later I’m lying on my bunk watching Uncle Ray—in pressed black jeans and dark-blue silk shirt—blow-dry, mousse, and sculpt his hair into cool-guy perfection.
    I study him carefully, making mental notes.
    “Uncle Ray, out of all the places you’ve been,” I ask, “which has the hottest women?”
    “Australia. No question about it. They’re all tanned knockouts down there. And here’s the best part: they go topless on the beaches.”
    “Get outta here!” My voice totally breaks.
    “Swear to God. Imagine the most gorgeous chicks in the world just walking in G-strings with their