Meeting Miss 405 Read Online Free

eyes getting all teared up.
    When I looked over to her balcony this morning, all I could see were jungly plants and flowers filling in the gaps between the railings.
    I think about Parveen’s hair and Miss Stella’s hair and her balcony garden for so long that I almost forget to be worried about why Mr. Howarth wants to see me.
    But once I remember to worry, I can’t stop.
    Reading and Comprehension lasts a very long time when you’re worried.

CHAPTER 8
The Trusted Other
    On my way home I decide not to ring my buzzer. But when I get there, my finger reaches out all on its own.
    Dad answers.
    I have been so busy thinking about what Mr. Howarth talked to me about, I forgot that Dad said he’d be home! My backpack bumps against my leg as I run up the stairs. But he is not waiting for me like Mom would be. Even on her bad days, when she spent all day at the dining room table in her nightie, she would be waiting at the door.
    â€œDad?” I walk into the kitchen. Breakfast is still all over the place.
    â€œHere.”
    I find him in the bedroom dumping clothes into the plastic laundry basket. “Gotta get this stuff in. Want to come down with me?”
    The laundry room makes a funny echo. Sometimes I hear dripping but never see any water. I bet a black widow spider is hiding in there somewhere.
    I pick up the sock peeking out from under his bed and drop it on top of the basket. Mom’s blue nightie and green cargo pants are flopping over the edge. “Remember not to put Mom’s cottons in the dryer.”
    â€œTansy. I can’t do everything right, so I’m not going to try. I want to get this stuff in the wash or there will be no clean socks or underwear tomorrow.”
    I giggle when I think of going to school half naked. But I stop when I think about Mom.
She
would never let me run out of underwear. Why can’t Dad at least
try
to do everything right.
    â€œSo. How was your day?” he asks.
    â€œDad? Do you have a Trusted Other?”
    He shifts the basket to his hip and looks at me. “A what?”
    â€œMr. Howarth said that he knows I must be having a hard time with Mom away. He told me that sometimesa Trusted Other helps us in difficult times. But what does it mean?”
    Dad drops the basket onto the bed and sits down next to it. He pulls me in front of him so I am standing with his knees pressing into my legs. “Perhaps he thinks you might need someone to talk to if you get sad. Or confused. Or lonely while Mom’s away.”
    I make a little braid of the hair by his forehead. If Mom was here she would say it needs cutting. “But I’ve got you.”
    â€œYou do. Of course you do,
ma petite saucisson.”
    That means “my little sausage” in French. Mom calls me that all the time.
    Dad unravels his silly braid and brushes his hair back with his fingers. “Sometimes we need someone else to talk to,” he says. “Someone who is not too close to us. Did Mr. Howarth have any suggestions?”
    â€œHe said I could go to the counselor’s office. He said that’s what Ms. Carlton is for, and that she’s a good listener.”
    â€œThat might be a good idea.”
    â€œDad?”
    â€œYes, Tansy?”
    â€œ
You
tell me everything, don’t you?” He does not say anything for a long while. Then he gets up from the bed and turns around as if he has forgotten where he is or what he was doing. When I touch his arm, he looks at me and sighs. “Yes. Of course I do.”
    While I wait for him to come back from the laundry room, I make a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich. I cut it in quarters and put two quarters on one plate for me. And two on another one for Dad.

    Kraft Dinner used to be my favorite supper. But maybe I’ve grown out of it. I push the boring orange macaroni around my plate and squish my peas one at a time. Then I lick them off my fork. “Are you allergic to anything,