Thirteen Read Online Free Page B

playground.”
    â€œMom!” he protested. “I would never!”
    â€œJust like you would never pick your nose?”
    â€œI don’t! I quit!”
    â€œI certainly hope so.” She swooped up her purse from the granite counter. “Okay, we’re off. Winnie, tell Sandra she better get a move on.”
    â€œSandra!” I bellowed, arching my head toward the living room, which led by way of traveling air molecules to Sandra’s upstairs bedroom. “Get a move on!”
    Mom’s look said, Gee, Winnie, thanks , but she didn’t bother to scold me. She strode out the back door, and Ty scurried after her.
    Several minutes later, Sandra thundered downstairs, her hair flying and her Chuck Taylors unlaced. She didn’t take the time to grab a package of Pop-Tarts. She didn’t even glance at me. “Let’s go,” is all she said.
    Uh-oh , I thought. Bad mood .
    In the front seat of her rattly old BMW, which she’d saved up for herself last year, I waited for her to spill. She didn’t.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” I finally asked.
    â€œNothing,” she said.
    I gazed out the window. Sandra’s cell phone, visible in the pouch of her messenger bag, played a snippet of an old Doors song: “Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name?”
    â€œWant me to answer it?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I do not.”
    I fished it out and checked the name. “It’s Bo.”
    She snatched it before I could press the green “talk” button.
    â€œI said no ,” she snapped. “What do you not understand about that?”
    I shrank. Sandra was often a grump, but not usually a mean grump. And why wouldn’t she want to talk to Bo, whom she’d been going out with for two years? Bo was the most perfect guy in the world. He was captain of the high school baseball team. He was funny and sweet and had muscles, but not in a cheesy way. He loved doughnuts.
    Plus he was nice to Ty and me, and not to impress Sandra. Sometimes he’d show up at our house before Sandra got home, and he’d hang out and watch Oprah with us. Or Ellen , which was becoming my new favorite. Not Dr. Phil. Ty would force Bo to admire the spear he’d made or whatever, and Bo would give him ideas about how to make it better, like soaking a leather shoelace in water and wrapping it around the part where the arrowhead was attached, so that when it dried, it was super tight and looked all authentic.
    I loved Bo. I was probably a little in love with Bo, even though I was also intensely in like with Lars.
    â€œAre you guys having a fight?” I asked Sandra.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    Then why don’t you want to talk to him? I wanted to say. But I didn’t, because the energy she was radiating told me I’d only get barked at. I was very much a wimp when it came to conflict. Anyone’s conflict. Cinnamon would tell me about these knockdown, drag-out screaming matches she had with her dad, over stupid stuff like her cell minutes or how much time she spent on the Internet, and part of me would be in awe. At the same time, just hearing her stories made my stomach get tight.
    Sandra’s phone stopped ringing. A few seconds later, it did its voice mail bleep.
    â€œDo you want me to check it for you?” I asked timidly.
    â€œNo. And I don’t want you asking about it. I don’t want you talking at all.” She glared at me. “Do you think you can do that?”
    She said it like I was a baby, like, Do you think that’s remotely possible? Do you think, maybe, you can get that through your head?
    It stung. I had my own boy problems, not that she’d ever asked. And Ty was the baby, not me. Although even Ty had girl problems, apparently.
    We rode the rest of the way in silence. She dropped me off at the junior high building, and I got out without looking at her.
    â€œBye,” she said grudgingly. There might have been a