Meeting Miss 405 Read Online Free Page A

Dad?”
    He is reading at the table. We are only supposed to do that on Sunday mornings. “Dad?”
    He moves his head up, but his eyes are still stuck on the pages. “What?”
    â€œAre you allergic to something? Devin could die if he eats peanuts.”
    â€œMmm.”
    â€œWell?”
    He closes his book and pushes it aside. “The story is that once, when I was a baby, I threw up all over my aunt’s shoulder after I had been fed a bowl of canned pears. But my uncle had just finished swinging me around his head. So who can blame me?” He pulls my supper toward him and finishes it off in one big gulp. “Until the day she died, Aunt Daisy claimed I was allergic to pears. But I haven’t thrown up after eating them since.”
    â€œMaybe one day I will eat something and be allergic and die,” I tell him. “In school, Mr. Howarth keeps Devin’s EpiPen in his desk. Devin used to take care of it himself, but he kept losing it. Should we get an EpiPen for me? Just in case?”
    Dad takes the dishes to the counter and dumps them in a messy heap. He bends down to open the door of the dishwasher. Then he closes it again when he sees that it is full. He pushes the dishes in the sink with a clatter.
    â€œIf the stuff in the dishwasher is clean, you have to put it away,” I say. “If it’s dirty, you have to turn it on.” I get up from the table and open it again. “See? All clean.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll unload. You put them away.” Dad boosts me onto the counter.
    I reach down for him to hand me the plates. “Do you think I might be allergic and we just don’t know?”
    â€œTansy. There is absolutely no point in worrying about things that don’t need worrying about. It may be better to be safe than sorry about lots of things. But right now we have more things to worry about than allergies.”
    But I can’t help it. As I put things on the shelves in their proper places, I make a list in my head of all the things at Miss Stella’s that might make me sick.
    Artichoke hearts
. They don’t look like hearts at all.
    Pita bread out of a package
. Parveen’s
Bebe-ji
makes theirs from scratch. She calls them
rotis
. The ones in Miss Stella’s fridge look very old.
    Omega-3 eggs
. Do they have three yolks? Mom always says that double yolks are lucky. What would she say about three?
    Bird’s custard powder
. Miss Stella used to have this for dessert when she was a kid, and she said she still likes it. She’ll make it for me one day.
    Toasted soy beans
. She said they are good on salads. They look like nuts to me.
    The dishwasher is empty, and I’ve put everything away before I can think of any more items for my list. Dad swings me down, and I go in the living room to do my homework.
    When the phone rings, I am working on my last three math questions. Dad answers it in his bedroom. He must be listening most of the time, because I don’t hear his voice very often.
    â€œWas that Grandpa?” I ask him when he comes back. “Did you talk to Mom? I wanted to talk to her.”
    He sits on the couch next to me and pulls me against him. “Mom is on new medication that makes her very sleepy. We can talk to her in a couple of days. Okay?” He rubs his chin in my hair and gently pushes me away.
    Maybe what Dad needs is a Trusted Other. His friend Paul has gone away for two years to the Arctic. Is that north or south? I used to know. And Dale and Jenny were really Mom’s friends, and they haven’t called lately.
    I do not believe that Dad tells me everything. But I guess it’s okay; I don’t tell him everything either. Maybe I should ask Mr. Howarth if parents can talk to the school counselor.

CHAPTER 9
Super-Concentrated Miss Stella
    Each day I get more used to going to Miss Stella’s after school. But I still punch the button to our intercom on my way into the building every