Pack of Dorks Read Online Free Page A

had never noticed just how big and scary my dad could be. But standing so close in front of me, his face twisted and red, his hands in fists, for the first time ever I worried that maybe I did something, said something, that made my dad hate me.
    “Get to your room! Now!” he bellowed. I swear, my hair flew back when he yelled. My dad—he never, ever yelled at me. I was too scared to move. That is, until I saw his red face turn purple. “Go!” he screamed even louder, his arm jerking out to point toward my room down the hall.
    I ran, slamming the door behind me. In the living room, Molly screamed and Mom sobbed.

    At lunchtime, I figured Dad would come to my door and apologize. He might even have my ring, so overcome with guilt at the way he had treated me that he went straight to the hospital and found it. I would hug him and tell him I loved him and knew he loved me. Everything would be fine, fine, fine.
    Only he never came to my door.
    I smelled grilled cheese (Dad’s specialty, since he adds spinach and uses pepper jack cheese and rye bread), but he never called me to the table. Mom did, patting gently on the door with her knuckle. “Come have some lunch, Lucy.”
    I walked slowly down the hall, but Dad wasn’t at the table. He must’ve taken his plate with him to the office. And my grilled cheese was just white bread and American cheese.
    Mom sat with me, but just picked at the crust of her sandwich. Just as I finished, she cleared her throat. “That word,” she said. “That word you used to describe your sister. That’s a hateful word. A mean word. It’s a word we’re not going to use in our house.”
    “Retarded?” I whispered. Just because I wanted to be sure.
    Mom squeezed shut her eyes. “That’s the second and last time you’ll ever use that word. Do you understand me?”
    I nodded. Mom patted my hand. “This is confusing for all of us. When I was pregnant with Molly, all the tests came back normal. That happens sometimes, the doctor said,” she whispered and her eyes got wet again. “We knew the statistics, because of my age, but we weren’t prepared . . . I mean, is anyone prepared . . .”
    I squeezed her hand back. “Mom, about my ring—”
    “Lucy,” Mom snapped. “Forget about your stupid ring.”
    “My ring isn’t stupid. Why can you use that word? Isn’t that a mean word?”
    Mom’s eyes narrowed and dried up. “Back to your room,” she said in her quiet, scary voice.
    Maybe by dinnertime they’d realize what jerks they were.

    Sometimes your parents don’t realize they’re jerks. Sometimes you even wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might actually be the jerk. I heard the radio click on in the kitchen. That’s Dad’s first signal that he’s about to start cooking. For some reason, that one little click made me feel sorry. I should be in the kitchen, part of our robot unit. I shouldn’t be alone in my bedroom while my brand-new sister gets cuddles from everyone but me. I should be talking to my dad, not scared that he doesn’t like me. Of course he likes me. What’s not to like? So I took a deep breath and skipped down the hall.
    “Hey, Daddy-o,” I said.
    He looked up from his cookbook, eyebrows raised. I gave him my sorry-I-was-mean-but-now-I’m-sweet smile. He flashed back his glad-to-see-you-and-of-course-I-like-you grin. “I’m feeling creative,” he said.
    “Oh no!” Mom called from the couch. “Another DD.”
    Soon we were chowing down on spaghetti with canned clams and chili sauce. Not one of my favorites, but I ate a little of the sauce then switched to buttered noodles. One upside of Mom not being pregnant any more: she didn’t insist on a leafy green vegetable with each lunch and dinner.
    Mom still was swirling a noodle around her fork when Molly started squeaking from the bassinet. Dad and I jumped up at the same time and laughed. “Since she’s already not content and I’m already done eating, could I go to her?” I asked.