The Last Chance Texaco Read Online Free Page A

I heard the squeak of the floorboards, and I knew whichever counselor had opened the door was now walking across the room for a closer view. A second later, a shadow blocked the light in my eyelids, and I knew the counselor was standing right over me, making sure it really was me in my bed. Then the counselor turned to check on Yolanda. I opened my eyes just a slit and recognized Ben's back and butt. Yeah, sometimes guy counselors have to check on a girl's room, and yeah, sometimes they catch you dressing or worse. But you get used to the lack of privacy, just like you get used to everything else.
     
    The floorboards squeaked again, and I saw Ben heading for the hallway again. A second later he closed the door, leaving Yolanda and me in the dark again.
     
    I had a hundred other questions to ask my roommate, but the door had barely closed when she said, "We did have two cats. Did you have any pets?"
     
    • • •
     
    When I went down to the kitchen the next morning, fists were flying. But it wasn't a fight. It was an old woman kneading dough. She had her back turned toward me, but I knew this had to be Mrs. Morgan, the only counselor I hadn't met yet. It was midmorning, and the rest of the kids in the house had gone off to school. But Kindle Home was in a different district than Bradley Home, and I hadn't been signed up for classes at my new school yet. So I'd slept in, and now Mrs. Morgan and I had the house to ourselves.
     
    "Hey," I said, still standing in the doorway.
     
    Mrs. Morgan glanced back at me. She was old, but she was no grandma. Yeah, she had wrinkles and white hair cut short like a nun or a lesbian. And she had liver spots and sensible shoes. But she also had eyes that were crystal blue, and the kind of perfect posture that makes you stand up a little straighter, even though you don't normally give a rip about things like posture.
     
    She stepped away from the counter, revealing a large metal bowl. "Take over," she said.
     
    "What?" I said.
     
    "Come here and take over this dough. When we're done here, I'll make you some breakfast."
     
    I stepped closer. There was an enormous blob of white dough in the middle of the bowl. I'd never kneaded anything before, and I didn't want to start now. I wanted food and a shower.
     
    "Go ahead," Mrs. Morgan said. "But wash your hands first."
     
    I ran my hands under the faucet, then gave the dough a few feeble pokes. It seemed pliable at first, but it wasn't really. Under the surface, it was stiff. You could push it, but it pushed back, stubborn-like.
     
    "Fold it over," Mrs. Morgan said. "Like this." She demonstrated, and I saw that she had hands like the roots of an old oak tree. I wondered how much of her life she'd wasted kneading dough. Hadn't she heard about bakeries? But I had to admit, the dough went where Mrs. Morgan pushed it and stayed there.
     
    I tried to do what she'd done.
     
    "Harder," she said. "And always in only one direction."
     
    I tried again. Mrs. Morgan just watched my hands. She didn't say anything, so I guess that meant I was doing it right.
     
    "I'm Mrs. Morgan," she said.
     
    "Lucy," I said.
     
    "I'm going to go over the house rules with you."
     
    "Yeah, I know."
     
    She kept watching, only now it seemed like she was watching more than just my hands. Suddenly, I was glad I hadn't showered or changed out of my bathrobe. If she didn't like it, that was her problem.
     
    "Okay," she said at last. "Stop kneading. Now we have to roll them into shape."
     
    "What are you making? Isn't this bread?"
     
    "No, it's soft pretzels. So we have to roll it out into ropes and twist them into shape."
     
    I didn't want to roll it out into ropes and twist it into shape! I wanted to eat breakfast and then maybe watch some television. How often did I get a day off? But I watched as Mrs. Morgan scooped up a gob of dough and began rolling it between her hands. In ten seconds, she'd whipped out a cord of dough about two feet long and about half