Cuts Like a Knife Read Online Free PDF Page B

hadn’t been biting on my tongue so hard I could taste blood.
    Mac had gotten that album from her grandmother. She had a whole collection of them, old stuff like Long John Baldry. She liked the pops and hisses and scratches those old records made. Maybe because she’d listened to so many of them with her grandmother.
    But that Baldry album was her treasure. Mac’s grandmother was a huge fan. The album had been hers, and I knew that the liner inside had Long John Baldry’s signature. Mac would never give that away.
    It meant nothing to her? No way. It meant everything.
    I pulled both hands back through my hair. I knew Mac liked Mr. Hanson, even though she said all teachers were lame. Giving him the album was like giving Ren her earrings and me…well, herself. She was going to run again because of Gavin and because her grandmother’s house was going to get torn down. Except I was starting to think that this time she wasn’t going to come back.
    I pulled out my phone and punched in Mac’s number, and the whole time all I was saying in my head was, “Pleaseanswer, pleaseanswer, please-answer,” and she didn’t.
    And I didn’t know what to say, what message to leave on her voice mail. Please don’t run away again because I love you? I’d already said “I love you” to Mac, and I’d noticed that she hadn’t said it back.
    I don’t know how long I was there sitting on the edge of the curb, shaking. Finally I decided I should move or someone was going to see me and think I was stoned or something and call the cops.
    So I got up and started walking again, and I guess my feet were on some kind of autopilot, because I was almost home before I noticed which direction I was going in.
    I let myself in the back door and stood in the darkness in the kitchen for a minute, listening, trying to guess where my mother was. My dad was on a business trip to Los Angeles. While I was standing there, Mom came into the room, saw me standing there and gave a little shriek.
    â€œIt’s just me, Mom,” I said, holding up a hand.
    She put her own hand flat on her chest, shaking her head. “What are you doing standing in the middle of the kitchen in the dark?” she said. “If you were trying to scare me to death, it didn’t work, but it was close.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking.”
    She padded over to the cupboard and took down a bag of dill pickle chips from the shelf. I could see the bag was already half gone and I hadn’t had any. She bought baked chips because they were healthier, but then she ate them all, which didn’t seem that healthy to me.
    â€œSo what were you thinking about?” Mom asked, tipping her head on one side to look up at me. My mother was short, which didn’t mean she didn’t know about twenty-seven different ways to put you down on your knees if you gave her any trouble. She had four big brothers.
    â€œWere you thinking about why we’re all here on this planet, or were you trying to decide whether you wanted frozen pizza or the last piece of cake?”
    She always asked questions like that. My friends either thought my mother was deeply weird, or they kind of had a thing for her, mostly the last part.
    I shrugged and hoped it looked casual so maybe just this once she wouldn’t notice anything off about me. “I was just, you know, thinking about school and stuff.”
    She popped another chip in her mouth and held out the bag to me. I took a handful even though I wasn’t that crazy about dill pickle chips.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” she asked in the same tone she’d used when she’d asked me if I was trying to decide between frozen pizza and leftover cake.
    For a second, I thought about telling her that I’d slept with Mac and it was wonderful, but after, she’d just disappeared and I couldn’t find her, and she was giving presents