![]() ![]() “Would it kill him to say what’s on his mind?” I demand. “Mom!” She’d never admit it, but Brian is her favorite. “Give him time, Shelby,” Mom says, turning off the vacuum. “It makes me mad that I can’t get Brian talking when there’s so much to say about Dad and all that stuff.” Right now Mom and I are cleaning the living room, or more like she’s cleaning and I’m batting around a feather duster. That can’t be good, can it? If I stuck him with a pin, he’d pop like a balloon. I stomp around and yell, but he just holds it all in. Speaking of speaking, my annoying brother, Brian, who’s nine, hangs on to words like they’re shiny quarters, too valuable to spend, especially now that our lives have been turned upside down. You smell like a goat.” It was the truth, but she didn’t speak to me all night. Like, last week, Evvie and I rode our bikes to Melissa’s sleepover, and when we got there, all sweaty, Evvie said, “Yeeks, I must smell like a pig,” and I said, “Pigs don’t sweat. Okay, to be honest, I sometimes exaggerate a little, and maybe I’ll hold back a few details, but that’s because I keep getting in trouble for telling the whole truth. ![]() Well, actually I won’t be twelve until next month. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |