Read Me Like a Book Read Online Free Page B

pick up my coffee.
    “I know, Mum.” I look around the café. Look at the tables. The counter, the ceiling — anywhere but her face. “Can I go now?”
    As soon as I’ve said it, I feel awful. I glance at her. She’s clenching her teeth, and a tic is beating in her cheek. Her eyes are dark. I want to take the words back, but I’ve got nowhere else to put them, so I leave them hanging there.
    “Is it so awful to spend a few minutes with your mother?” she whispers. “Am I that much of a terrible person?” She dabs at the corners of her eyes with the edge of her napkin, then tilts her head away and looks up at the ceiling. The strip light buzzes and flashes sadly like at the end of a school dance.
    “Mum, you’re not a terrible person at all,” I say. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Dad is either. I just wish you’d sort things out.”
    Mum nods. “Thank you, darling. That means a lot.”
    “And I’m sorry if I was a bit sharp,” I add. “I don’t mean to be. I’ve just got stuff on my mind too.” Like the fact that Dylan hasn’t been in touch since our date, and wondering whether I should text him first, and if Cat’ll be at school so I can ask her advice. All of which, frankly, is a welcome distraction from having to think about any of this.
    “I know,” she says, “and I’m sorry. All this nonsense between your father and me, it’s not fair to you. I don’t even know what’s gotten into us. We used to be so . . .” She makes a strange noise, like a cross between a choke and a gulp. “Well, things have changed,” she says finally. “He barely looks at me nowadays. We don’t speak to each other. Don’t even know what to say or where to start.”
    Makes three of us.
    “I’m sorry, Ashleigh. I just want us to be a family again, and I’ll try my best to make that happen. Will you give me a chance?”
    “Yeah, of course,” I say. I look up quickly and she catches my eyes. For a second, a tiny window opens between us and I remember when I was little and she was my idol. She used to tell me about the first time she took me swimming. I was two and I had a turquoise swimsuit with a white frill around the bottom. “I held you against me and heard your little heart beating against mine,” she used to say, and I’d make her tell me again and again. I never knew if I actually remembered it myself or if I’d just heard the story so often I could picture us there. My little arms around her neck, hot cheek against her ear, her safe arms holding me tight.
    When did she stop being my best friend?
    I smile back and we sit in silence for a second before she picks up her bag. “Just nipping to the loo.”
    “Look, I need to get moving. I’m going to be late.”
    As I edge out of my seat, she studies my face, brushing my cheek with her thumb as though she’s looking for something. Then the moment has passed and we go our separate ways.
    Leaving the café, I force the conversation out of my mind. They’ll sort it out. I’m sure they will. They’ve got to, because the alternative is, frankly, unthinkable.
    By the time I reach the school gates, my thoughts are safely off Mum and Dad and back onto the other pressing issue: When is Dylan going to ring?

Cat and I get our lunch and take a seat in the cafeteria. For about a millisecond, I toy with the idea of talking to her about my parents. I decide against it. Saying the words out loud to Cat would make them all too real. Instead we discuss what might be going on with Dylan.
    We don’t come up with much.
    “Perhaps it’s like that film,” Cat ventures through a mouthful of chips.
    “What film?”
    “You know. What’s it called?”
    “
He’s Just Not That Into You
?” I offer.
    “No, I meant the one where the guy loses his short-term memory. So, like, he meets someone one day, or even knows them really well, but by the next day, he’s completely forgotten who they are.”
    “How does it end?”
    “Um. He finds out that