Summer of Supernovas Read Online Free

got a lot of explaining to do, young lady. What in blue blazes gave you the notion to scale that tower?”
    I consult the hospital wristband on my arm, which offers no helpful answer. “Uh…” I gulp and squirm under Gram’s steady gaze. “The Milky Way?”

    Her mouth puckers like she’s swallowed vinegar. “ Tell me this does not have to do with astrology. Because I believe I’ve made myself quite clear about spending too much time with your head stuck in the cl—”
    “It’s astronomy,” I correct under my breath. I mean, technically, I was up there to see the Milky Way. Gram doesn’t need to know the superfluous details.
    “Oh? Is that meant to be amusing, Wilamena Grace?”
    To avoid digging myself deeper, I answer with the only response she’s keen on hearing. “No, ma’am.”
    “Good. Now start talking.”

    Gram’s not mad. Not anymore anyway. Following last night’s hospital discharge and my glowing health pronouncement, I was forbidden by Gram and the city of Carlisle from ever climbing the water tower again. Which is tantamount to telling a bird not to fly. I memorize their exact words and vow to find a loophole once the ladder’s repaired.
    But I won’t be curtailed by yesterday’s debacle. No way. I reason when you survive a forty-something-foot drop, things have nowhere to go but up.
    And it’s Sunday—an auspicious day for an Aquarian. The card in my hand confirms today’s stroke of luck. His signature is scribbled on the front, along with the words “admit two.” I flip over the Carlisle Community Hospital business card, rereading the compact slanted writing on the back.

Wil (aka Gravity Goddess),
Deepest apologies. Please accept this olive branch.
I hope you can come.
Grant (aka Gravity Amateur)
PS This is your ticket.
PPS Absinthe—Sunday 8 PM
    Absinthe is a hot music club on the city’s west side, featuring up-and-coming indie bands. It’s damn near impossible to gain entry without having an in, which I’ve never had…until now.
    I tap the card on my thumbnail, ignoring the unexpected swell of nervousness. But I have no reason to be nervous. The day could not be better aligned. I pocket the card the nurse had discreetly given me, and smooth on a layer of my signature red Parisian Pout lipstick—the only makeup I wear most days.
    “Gram?” I shove my keys and phone in my purse and heft the overnight bag onto my shoulder. “Gram? I’m leaving!”
    “Hold on!” she hollers from the kitchen, moving to the entryway as fast as her arthritic knee allows. She pushes a basket into my hand. “You be sure and give these to Irina. Lord knows that girl could stand to have some meat on her bones.” Gram’s convinced all the problems of the world can be solved with baked goods. As the aroma of banana-nut muffins funnels to my nose, I’m not inclined to argue. Really, who doesn’t find peace in simple carbs?
    “Thanks. I’ll be back in the morning. Oh, and bleed ’em dry at bridge club.” I turn to leave.

    “Mena”—she catches my elbow—“you certain you’re well enough to be out and about?”
    Okay. Subtlety isn’t Gram’s modus operandi, but it’s recently dawned on her I’m graduating in a year. I’m not a kid anymore, which…she knows. Still, it’s a massive change in her thinking. Change. Nothing is more excruciating to a Taurus.
    “We’ve gone over this already, Gram. The doctor said my vitals are perfectly fine. I’ve rested all day and can report zero headaches, blurred vision, or dizziness. Now, I’m gonna be late. And so are you if you don’t finish up that order.”
    Carlisle Confections has been Gram’s business for over three decades. She makes delicious designer cupcakes and treats for the overprivileged who can afford them. She’s a sort of Monet of the baking world. And, not to brag, but I know my way around a baking tin. Gram’s had me assisting since my motor skills were reliable enough for precise measurements. Too bad I don’t