Crash (Visions (Simon Pulse)) Read Online Free Page B

tonight. He’s talking to Dad.”
    Aunt Mary gives me a knowing look.
    We never discuss Dad’s little “problem” with anybody. It’s this huge secret everybody knows but nobody talks about. Nobody’s allowed in our apartment. Nobody who knows us personally asks why. Just invoking Dad’s name is enough to stop Aunt Mary from pressing the issue. Talk about power. The guy who does the weirdest shit has all the power.
    I grab a pen and an order pad, head into the dining room, and catch Rowan’s eye. She gives me a stricken look and points with a sideways nod to the big group. I look, and my heart sinks. It’s a bunch of kids from school, looking like they’re all on one giant, icky date. With a glance Isee three guys who have tortured Trey in one manner or another since middle school. Two of the girls, Roxie and Sarah, used to be my friends in elementary school, before the cliques formed. Roxie was even upstairs for my sixth birthday party, back before the formation of the psycho’s dump.
    I get the status from Rowan and help her bring out the drink orders. I smile politely at anyone who catches my eye. I am not here to socialize. I am here to serve as their nanny and slave, clean up when they make a huge sticky mess of sodden sugar packets, hot-pepper water glasses, and clogged parm shakers, and smile gratefully as I watch them not leave a tip. And I will promptly dismiss it from memory the next time I see them, when they call out in the hallway, “Hey, Jules, how are the big balls treating you?” Because that is what we Demarcos do to survive and pay the bills. And we do it well.
    “Oh, hey, Julia,” Roxie says. I don’t remind her that I’ve gone by Jules since third grade.
    And I do not call her Roxanne in return. “What can I get for you, Roxie? Or do you guys need a few minutes to decide?”
    Half of them haven’t acknowledged me at all, and the other half give each other that smirky, Hey, we should probably check out the menu look, and no one answers my question. I stand a moment more, and then say, “So, you need a few minutes?”
    “Yeah,” a couple of them say.
    “I’ll stop back. If you decide before I get here, just flag me down.”
    Silence.
    “Okay, great.” I walk away feeling like a big bucket of stupid. My face gets hot. I hear the order-up bell, so I make a beeline for the kitchen to grab food for Rowan.
    Trey is headed my way. I put my hand out. “Don’t go out there,” I say, and that stops him. I give him a sympathetic smile.
    “Who’s here?”
    “Assholes. Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered for now. I’ll let you clean up after them.”
    “Awesome,” he says, rolling his eyes, but I know he’s grateful. It’s not like Trey needs anybody to protect him, but with Dad in the kitchen tonight, none of us want any trouble out on the floor. And with that cast of bigots out there, there would most certainly be trouble. Trey turns around and starts helping Casey, the dishwasher, while I grab the pizza and spaghetti for table four and head back out.
    Over at the group-date table, I see straw wrapper carcasses all over the floor. “What sounds good tonight?” I say, perky. I hold my order pad so they get a clue that it’s time.
    “Angotti’s sounds good,” one jackass says, “but they’re closed.”
    I look up sharply. “On a Saturday night? Why, did something happen?”
    The guy shrugs.
    I stare. Why on earth would Angotti’s be closed? Angotti’s never closes. There has to be a family tragedy for that to happen.
    “Um . . . ,” Roxie says. “Hello . . .” She waves her menu in my face and I look at her, my stomach twisting. “We’ll have two large pepperoni pizzas and a supreme. Thin crust.” She hands me her menu.
    I picture Sawyer Angotti’s dead face staring back at me where my grandfather’s face is.
    “We don’t have thin crust,” I say in a weird, wispy voice that doesn’t even sound like me. The table wavers. I glance over at Rowan, then