The Wonder Bread Summer Read Online Free

sick of taking the bus—” She reached for her purse, but Jonas snatched it up first.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” Jonas held the purse behind his back.
    Allie stood still as a cat. She tried to tally up everything that was in her purse. Maybe she didn’t even need it. There were her IDs (school and driver’s license); a dried, black Cover Girl mascara (she’d been meaning to throw it out); a tube of Lancôme lipstick (Beth gave it to her because she, Beth, didn’t like the color); a pink comb (her only one); some Bic pens (accidentally stolen from the library at school, where she always borrowed a pen from one of the librarians); her quilted fabric wallet (empty save a few pennies and a dime); tampons (covers shredded, white cotton mice popping out of their cardboard inserters); rolling papers (Beth’s); a miniature water pipe (Marc’s, a souvenir, really); a Eurythmics cassette (useless, as she had no way to play it since her Walkman had died); a year-old index card with a phone number where she could allegedly reach her mother, Penny, in case of emergency (and in case Allie had enough money to make a long-distance call to area code 316, wherever that was); and the one-white, empty rabbit foot key chain Wai Po had given Allie on her sixth birthday.
    Allie wanted the key chain. She had been carrying that rabbit foot, almost black and slightly bald now, for fourteen years. It brought her good luck, she believed, just like Wai Po had said, ensuring Allie’s place in Berkeley, among other things. And, though she was loath to admit it to anyone, Allie hadn’t spent a night without the rabbit foot nearby since the day her grandmother had handed it to her. Also, she wanted her mother’s number. Penny may not have taken care of her in years, but Allie still held on to the thought that if she ever really were in trouble, her mother would bail her out. And without her student loan money, without her scholarship money, and now that it looked like she’d be without her paycheck, Allie was feeling like this might be the time.
    “I have to meet the manager of the bagel place at two.” Allie reached her hand around Jonas. He jerked to one side, laughing.
    “What’s the name of that bagel place?” Jonas was smiling so big, Allie could see the silver fillings on his molars.
    “Sam’s.” Allie was glad the name came out easily. When she was nervous, she often forgot names.
    “Sam’s?” Jonas was grinning, walking backward toward the fitting rooms with Allie’s purse in his hands.
    “Yeah. Sam’s.” Allie marched toward him.
    “Come back here.” Jonas tore open the floral curtain. “Sit down, do a little toot, and let me look at you again. Then you can have your purse, I’ll write you a check, and you can go meet the manager at Sam’s.”
    “I’m really late,” Allie said.
    “I’ll pay you a little extra for the time.” Jonas winked. Allie imagined Wai Po watching this scene. She would have called Allie a prossy-tute , a word Allie had first heard when Wai Po caught Allie looking out the window of the car at a long-legged, skinny blond girl wearing a sequined bikini and white go-go boots on the corner of Sunset and Londonderry. DON’T LOOK AT GIRL , Wai Po had said. A CHILD MIND IS LIKE PIECE OF PAPER WHERE EVERYONE LEAVE MARK. YOU DON’T WANT PROSSY-TUTE LEAVING MARK ON YOU.
    “Can I just have the purse and my paycheck? Please?” Allie stuck out her hand, then quickly hid it in her pocket before Jonas could see the tremor.
    “Sit down. Do a toot and we’ll talk about it.” Jonas pointed with his palm at the gold-legged stools.
    Allie sat. What else could she do? Jonas went to the stockroom and returned almost instantly with a Gerber baby-food jar full of coke. He sat on the other stool and handed Allie a plastic pointed pen cap. Allie knew what she was supposed to do with it; she had watched Beth use the slim, indented prong from a Bic cap to scoop out little piles of coke from origami