Clarity Read Online Free PDF Page B

wonder what it would be like to kiss him and had to force myself to stop and think of something else. Iknew I was blushing and by the look on his face, he was enjoying my discomfort.
    “See you around.” He began to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, what’s your name?”
    “Clare.”
    “Clare,” he repeated. “Cute.”
    My mouth was dry. My heart was fluttering. This was unexpected. After the breakup with my one and only boyfriend, I had pretty much resigned myself to a life of no dating until I got out of this town. But here was this smoldering specimen flirting with me. I was in uncharted territory.
    Gabriel waved as he descended the stairs, and I caught a glimpse of the bottom of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. I tried to guess what it was. Barbed wire encircling his bicep? A gothic rose, perhaps?
    Someone cleared their throat loudly, killing my fantasy moment. I spun around and saw Mom standing there grinning like a kid with a secret.
    “Did you get anything you can use against Madame Maslov?” I asked.
    “Unfortunately, no. She has all the required permits. The address is still zoned commercially. There’s nothing Phil can do.”
    “Then what are you smiling about?” But as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew. “How long have you been standing there?” I hoped she wasn’t listening in on my impure thoughts about Gabriel.
    She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
    “Mom, you have to stop listening! It’s not polite.”
    She patted my arm. “Of course, dear. But only if you tell me what his tattoo says after you find out.”
    Mom’s one errand on the way home turned into four stops looking for some new shampoo she’d read about on some hippie blog. All natural, not tested on animals, not bottled in any country she didn’t like, squeezed from the extract of some leaf in a mountain somewhere. While held hostage in the car, I entertained myself by devising a plan to empty the bottle and refill it with cheap generic-brand shampoo and wait to see if she noticed a difference. Of course, as soon as Mom returned to the car, shopping bag in hand, she told me not to bother with my childish games.
    It’s really no fun having a telepathic mother.
    By the time we returned to the house, it was late afternoon. We parked in the driveway and spied Perry on the porch swing, flirting with a girl wearing a bikini top, cutoff shorts, and Rollerblades. Perry was telling a story, his hands waving animatedly, and the girl doubled over laughing, slapping her knee. As we approached, he had turned to the serious segment of the tale. The girl said, “Oh, poor baby,” with her lips turned down, while tracing his eyebrow scar with her finger. I wondered what the story was this time. Saving a Yorkie from a coyote? An old woman from a mugger, perhaps? The true story of his scar involved a rumble with our staircase. The staircase won.
    “Where have you guys been?” Perry asked, as Mom and I climbed the porch steps.
    “Searching the world for shampoo,” I said. “Who’s your friend?”
    “My name’s Jinnie!” she said in a bubbly voice, thrusting her chest out with delight. I guessed she was about sixteen and not a mathlete. “I’m on vacation here with my family and I was just skating past your house and fell on a crack in the sidewalk. Perry helped me with my boo-boo.” She pointed to a scratch on her knee about as severe as a paper cut.
    “That’s my brother,” I said. “Saving the world, one girl at a time.”
    Instead of a snappy retort, Perry grinned. “There’s a client in the reading room.”
    “Why didn’t you say so right away?” Mom asked.
    “He only booked Clare.” He grinned again, suspiciously.
    “Oh,” Mom said. “Well, I’m going to take a shower and try my new shampoo.”
    Mom went upstairs, and I stood outside the closed reading room doors for a moment. It wasn’t all that unusual for only one of us to be booked. Sometimes repeat clients return with