The Life and Crimes of Bernetta Wallflower Read Online Free Page A

mouth unfurls like a carpet and drops to the ground.
    â€œYou would have done the exact same thing to me,” Ashley continued, “if you’d thought of it first. I made a lot of money on that locker scam.”
    â€œI would
not
have done that. You’re my friend, Ashley. I thought you were my best friend.”
    â€œWell then,” Ashley said, and her voice was cold, “I guess you really are an idiot.” And she hung up the phone, before Bernetta could even have the satisfaction of doing it first.
    Bernetta slammed down the phone and pressed the bag of peas hard into her foot to stop the pain. Then she flopped back onto her sister’s bed, her long, frizzy braid draped down the side. What was she going to do
now
?
    She stuck her arms over her face so all she could see was one square inch of Elsa’s ceiling and began to count by prime numbers. One, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen . . .
    Bernetta had always had a thing for numbers. For some reason, digits didn’t fall out of her head like history facts or grammar rules. Numbers were easy to play with, to memorize. When Bernetta saw the number 14, for instance, she didn’t just see a 1 and a 4. She saw 2 times 7, she saw 28 divided by 2, she saw the word “hi” upside down and backward. Bernetta
knew
numbers, their personalities, their habits, and she found them reassuring.
    She’d counted only as far as twenty-three when Elsa’s door burst open and Colin raced into the room.
    â€œBernieberniebernieberniebernie
BERNIE
!” he sang, buzzing around with his hands out to his sides like a glider. He came to a tumbling stop on the bed, his face just inches above Bernetta’s, and pushed out the last of the air from her cheeks with his stubby hands. “Hi, Bernie!” he squealed at her.
    She squinted at him. “Don’t call me Bernie,” she said, and she snapped her eyes shut.
    â€œHey, Bernie, why do you have peas on your leg?”
    â€œBecause they’re cold.” Bernetta went back to counting by primes. Twenty-nine, thirty-one, thirty-seven . . .
    â€œIce cream’s cold too. You gonna put ice cream on your leg?”
    â€œForty-one,” Bernetta responded. “Forty-three, forty-seven.”
    â€œOr frozen pizzas?”
    â€œFifty-three, fifty-nine.”
    Colin poked her in the belly. “Bernie, Bernie, what are you doing?”
    â€œI’m counting by prime numbers. It helps me relax. Sixty-one.”
    â€œOh.” Bernetta felt Colin flop down on the bed beside her. “I’m gonna relax too.”
    â€œSixty-seven,” Bernetta said.
    â€œNine,” Colin added. “Eighteen. Eleven.”
    Bernetta squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tried to ignore him. “Seventy-one,” she said.
    â€œSix.”
    â€œSeventy-three.”
    â€œForty billion.”
    â€œ
Seventy-nine
.”
    â€œBubble gum.”
    â€œEighty-three!”
    â€œWalla Walla, Washington.”
    Bernetta opened her eyes and turned to Colin. His head was tilted to the side, and he seemed to be thinking pretty hard about something. Finally he took a deep breath and spoke. “When I grow up, I’m going to own a hot dog stand.”
    Then he was out the door as fast as he’d come in. Bernetta could hear him sliding down the stairs on his butt, one thud at a time.
    Bernetta resumed her counting, eyes closed: Eighty-nine, ninety-seven, one hundred and one . . . She still wasn’t feeling very relaxed.
    Bernetta was interrupted again by a gentle tug on her big toe. She opened one eye.
    Elsa.
    â€œI heard about your fiasco at the club,” Elsa said with a frown. “How’s the ankle?”
    Bernetta sat up, leaning on her elbows. “Purple and swollen,” she answered.
    â€œSo I see.” Elsa sat down on the edge of the bed, gingerly, so as not to disturb Bernetta’s ankle or the bag of