Spider Brains: A Love Story (Book One) Read Online Free Page A

bitten a chunk out of it. It was yellowish, like gouda cheese.
    He wore a pair of black Ray Ban-looking clear glasses that sat cockeyed and about one-third down on his nose. He stood there for a second before pushing the glasses tighter to his face with his thumb then he dove both hands now deeper into his pockets and stood evenly, balancing his oh-so-tired body somehow on both legs, as he looked at us.
    He looked dumbfounded.
    I rolled my eyes and looked away from him, away from mom for anything, for something to save me. A great big pumpkin perhaps with four white mice that turned into four white horses. For my prince. Where’s Justin when I need him.
    But mom spoke. “Mr. Rider.” Mom shoved her free hand out from behind me for him to shake. “Hello. I’m Willa. Willa Speider from across the street. In 9. There.” She let out a single nervous laugh, turned and pointed with her nose behind her. It was like she was all giggly and I wanted to sit on the ground right then and fall onto my back, lie down on my side and then run my legs around in a circles, throw this humongo fit and suck my thumb.
    But, I couldn’t. Mom was too fast. “This is Susie.”
    “ Hello Susie.” He didn’t even offer his hand. Plus, his breath smelled yeasty like he’d fallen into the vat of beer and was still swimming around looking for a ladder to climb out of.
    I know beer. Dad used to drink it when he and his guy friends went deer hunting. Don’t ask. It’s a real horror story. We still have a mounted deer head, a beautiful buck, now some morbid art form, hanging above the dining room table that mom refuses to exorcise from our house. I refuse to eat in that room. (Mom doesn’t even know but when I talk to it, you know, sort of, like, apologizing for dad and all, I call it “Moose.” Moose listens real well. And, sometimes, to me, he even seems to nod his poor guiottined deer head or move it real slow, side to side. One thing about Moose is mom could learn from his listening abilities.)
    My hand flew up to my nose to protect me from his breath. Mom stepped in.
    She nearly bumped me off the porch with her achy swaying hips as she held out the Macy’s bag for him to take. “I, we," Uh, yeah, I'm still here mom, "made you a welcome package.” Her recovery was swift and complete.
    “ How sweet of you.” He grabbed the bag, looked in, looked up, smiled and then there was like this forever moment but then a thought formed in his mushy trap of a brain, it sounded like a slow wheel grinding up to start, and he turned and screamed, “Matt!”
    He looked back to us and smiled again. “Matt. My son. He’s upstairs.” He turned again.
    I rolled my eyes.
    “ Matt! Now! We have guests.” He screamed again.
    “ It’s not a problem, Mr. Rider.” Mom pulled me back by my tee-shirt right at the shoulder, “We came unannounced and certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Come on, Susie.”
    “ No. Hold on.” He turned and walked a couple steps inside his house out of sight from us. “Matt! Down here. On the double!” I noticed how the floor in the entryway had black smudges on it, probably from moving in last week.
    All of the sudden, you could hear lame-o speaking. “What, dad, I’m streaming...” but Mr. Rider cut him off.
    “ Now. I won’t say it again, Matt.”
    “ Jeez.” You could hear dorkowitz at the top of the stairs slogging down each thick carpeted step.
    Then before I could turn and run, he showed up and all his long-limbed, bizarre-o glory.
    “ Matt?” Mr. Rider said, “This is Mrs. Speider and Susie” I prayed he wouldn’t say it, “Speider.” God.
    Matt kind of giggled but his dad nudged him with an elbow to the ribs. He pushed, with his thumb, at his dad-look-alike-glasses. No lie. “Nice to meet you.”
    “ Nice to meet you, Matt.” Mom’s voice sounded like syrup over mushy mealy pancakes. “Susie? Isn’t it nice to meet the Riders.”
    I turned face-front to her and looked deep into her