A Little Bit of Spectacular Read Online Free PDF

mean/weird/boring girl who was also annoyed.
    But when it all came down to it, nothing I thought really mattered. It was possible that I could have argued with Gram and gotten her to change her mind. I’d say the odds were one in fifty. Arguing with her would have disturbed Mom. And it was always so much work to argue with Gram . . . it was a lot easier just to grab my coat.
    â€œDo you want to push the button?” Gram asked as we stepped into the elevator.
    â€œI’m eleven, Gram,” I reminded her, for possibly the thousandth time since we’d moved in. “I don’t need to push buttons anymore.”
    â€œSuit yourself,” she said as the doors closed behind us. “I like pushing them myself.”
    She was very slow, though, when it came to reaching for the button. Too slow. I admit it—I pushed it. I pushed it twice.
    Gram nodded approvingly.
    â€œYour mother is fine, you know,” she said as we started to move.
    â€œThat’s what she always says,” I said.
    â€œThat’s because it’s true.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, a little too quickly. A little too agreeably. Gram frowned like she recognized the tone of someone who doesn’t believe you but doesn’t want to argue about it. She had Mom’s light brown eyes with little gold flecks in them, and when she stared at you, it was hard to look away.
    Ding
, went the elevator as we passed the third floor.
Ding
again as we passed the second floor.
    â€œI know you were scared when she got sick,” she said. “I know you felt like you had to take care of her when it was just the two of you. But you don’t have to be scared now. You don’t have to worry. She’s healing, and, in another month or so, she’ll be totally back to normal. You need to stop sitting around imagining that something terrible is going to happen.”
    â€œI don’t think about terrible things happening,” I said.
    The elevator was going really slow.
    â€œOf course you don’t,” she said, a little too quickly.
    She didn’t say anything else, though; she just stepped out of the elevator when it opened onto the parking level. I followed her and hoped we were done with serious conversations.
    It turned out that Amelia lived in a part of town called Southside. We slowed down in front of a white brick house with black shutters and a porch that wrapped around both sides. There was a wrought-iron gate all the way around the house, and the front yard was overgrown and junglelike in a good way, with big shady trees and hanging vines that were already a summery green. The roof had swoops and curves in it, not just straight lines. The front door was polished wood with a big brass knocker in the shape of a fist. It felt weird to pull up to the house in a car—it seemed like the kind of house that would fit better with a horse and carriage. I half expected Amelia and her mother to come out in long puffy dresses and big hats.
    Instead they opened the door in jeans and sweatshirts. They were both short—“petite” as Gram would say—with round, happy faces. Mrs. Glasgow was smiling, which looked like her natural expression. Amelia wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t frowning either. It looked like she could go either way.
    Gram introduced me, and I shook hands with Mrs. Glasgow and then nodded at Amelia.
    â€œHey,” I said, pulling off my coat as quickly as possible.
    â€œHey,” said Amelia, looking at a spot just over my left shoulder. I wasn’t sure if she was shy or rude or just uninterested.
    Gram rolled her eyes, and Mrs. Glasgow smiled.
    â€œAmelia, why don’t you go show Olivia the backyard?” Mrs. Glasgow said, giving Amelia a sort of half-pat, half-shove with one hand.
    â€œOkay, okay,” said Amelia, taking a step away from her mother. She met my eyes, finally, and she almost smiled. “Come on. You’ll like the backyard.