The Chance You Won't Return Read Online Free Page B

then, you can observe.”
    I tried to smile. Observing driver’s ed — such a thrill. Public humiliation aside, I wondered if it would be better to fail the class.
    “We’ll make a driver out of you yet,” Mr. Kane said.
    “Can’t wait,” I said.

Preparation, I have often said, is rightly two-thirds of any venture.
    — Amelia Earhart
    That night, I expected Mom to corner me about driver’s ed, but it didn’t happen. At dinner, we talked about Teddy’s science-fair project — a baking-soda volcano, like every other kid in second grade — and how Katy felt like she was kind of over gymnastics. Mom asked me how school was that day but didn’t bring up Mr. Kane, and Dad didn’t seem to know anything, either. I kept quiet.
    Walking up the driveway the next afternoon, I could hear Patsy Cline on the stereo, a sign my father was already home from work. Usually he didn’t get home until six, after my mother if she was working at the dentist’s office that day. He probably pulled a muscle on one of his routes and left early. Teddy, whom I’d grudgingly picked up after school, started dancing.
    “Oh, my God,” I muttered. “Not this shit.”
    “I like it,” Teddy said. Then he smirked. “You said shit.”
    “No I didn’t. You heard me wrong.”
    “I’m gonna tell Dad.” He raced toward the house with unwarranted glee, sticklike limbs flailing.
    Inside, our father was sunk into the reclining chair, still in his postal uniform, a bag of ice slung over his shoulder, Jackson at his feet. Teddy was by his side, jabbering at him about me and a math test he’d had at school and eight other things. Dad’s eyes were half closed, but he nodded at Teddy. “Great multiplying, Ted. See how all those flashcards paid off?” he said, patting Teddy’s shoulder. He saw me hanging back in the hall. “I’ll talk to Alex about that, okay?”
    “Alex!” Teddy shouted, even though I was right there. He smiled so all his mismatched adult and baby teeth showed. “Dad wants to talk to you.”
    “Oh, gee, I wonder why.” I tried to mess up his hair, but he dodged my hand and rushed out of the room. When he wasn’t trying to annoy me, he could be an all right brother; he even liked playing soccer with me in the backyard. (I used to let him win all the time, but now I liked showing him tricks.) At first, when my mom was pregnant with Teddy, I’d thought I wasn’t going to like him at all. For six months, I complained when my mother couldn’t make lunch or take us shopping because her back hurt or she had to lie down. When Mom came home with him for the first time, Katy fawned over his tiny hands and feet. I hung back, not automatically impressed. Teddy wasn’t a cute baby; he looked long and thin, as if he’d been stretched. But when Mom had asked what I thought about my brother, I’d said he had her eyes. She’d smiled as if I’d called him beautiful.
    Arms folded over my chest, I perched on the couch, facing my father.
    Dad groaned as he readjusted the makeshift icepack. “Pulled a muscle in my shoulder,” he explained without my asking. “This one box got me. And all those catalogs. Of course people are going to throw them away. I swear, tomorrow I’m going to sort through what I think people won’t need and toss it. Do us both a favor.” As he chuckled, his shoulders shook and jostled off the ice. He tried to snatch it but moved too quickly, wincing at the pain.
    “Wouldn’t that be a federal offense?”
    He waved his hand as though brushing away a cobweb. “I’d call it efficiency. They’d love it.”
    My father was definitely not the typical disgruntled postal worker. “Walking in the fresh air, bringing people news, what could be better?” he often said when people asked about the job. “Better than being stuck in a cubicle all day.” We lived in such a small town that he knew most people on his route. At Christmastime, he came home with cards, plates of cookies, and the occasional bottle of