His Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

graduated with a degree in English, with the intention of becoming the next Robert Frost, but things hadn’t gone as planned. Bills and Charlie came along, so Dad went to law school. He once told me that he did what he had to do, but he still works pro bono whenever he can. My dad’s the best, not to be prejudiced or anything.
    “Mom, when do you think the pie will be ready?”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” she leaned back against my dad, “maybe six fifteen.”
    Right when I should’ve been leaving. Perfect .
    I headed to my bedroom in search of a “semi casual” outfit befitting the Clarencites. My bedroom was, if nothing else, my haven. The walls were painted a calm lavender, featuring my mom’s most recent doodlings of clouds. From the ceiling hung blown glass orbs. The rest of the space in the small room was taken up by my comfy full-sized bed.
    After ten minutes of digging through my closet, I returned to the kitchen. I wore a peasant skirt and a blouse—semi casual, right? I was thrilled to see that Mom was serving the spaghetti. I snatched a plate from her hand, sat down, and immediately began shoveling food into my mouth.
    Dad laughed. “You have a hot date or something?”
    I felt my face grow warm as I spoke around the spaghetti, “Nuhm, eh hef tuh,” I swallowed, “baby-sit.”
    “How is Tristan?” Mom pulled a heretofore unseen, giant salad from the refrigerator.
    I literally choked at the thought of trying to make it through three courses. After a short coughing fit, I managed, “He’s great; everything’s great.”
    Dad frowned skeptically at me while they took their seats at the table. “Why’d you change into a skirt?”
    “Oh, uh,” I swallowed, “I wanted to look nice?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Wait... is the boy you’re watching actually your age?”
    “Um,” I quickly reached for the salad tongs and scooped a pile of greens onto my plate, “yeah. Didn’t Mom tell you?”
    Dad gave my mom an exasperated look and grumbled, “I thought she was kidding.”
    “I think he’s more of a boyfriend,” she said with a wink.
    I rolled my eyes and quickly scraped my salad to the side, so I could squeeze a slice of steaming strawberry pie onto my plate. “We’re not really even friends. I-I just....” I gestured with my fork in the air, struggling for a definition of my strange job. “I try to get him to do things—to leave his house. And his mom pays me.”
    Dad frowned, trying to understand what I meant. “So, he’s a loner?”
    “No. Well....” I paused and shoved a piece of pie into my mouth; I immediately regretted the decision when the burning jelly stuck to my gums. Wincing, I gulped water and tried again: “He’s kind of a loner now, but he didn’t used to be. I don’t think.”
    “And you’re not getting paid to date him?” Dad asked firmly.
    “No!” I laughed and jumped when my cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I didn’t have to check the LCD screen to know that Mrs. Edmund was calling to see why I was late. Setting down my fork, I said, “Listen, I really have to go; I’m already late.”
    “Amy Rose!” Mom gasped. “We haven’t all had dessert yet! What if Charlie comes?”
    “You can tell him he can have the rest of mine?” I offered sheepishly. My phone vibrated again as I backed away from the table. I looked to Dad for support. “Okay?”
    Dad sighed and rubbed his forehead, torn between the hurt look on his wife’s face and the logic that the odds of Charlie showing up for the last ten minutes of dinner were virtually zero. He gave me the subtlest nod, which Mom didn’t notice through her tears. I nodded back, nonverbally conveying my thanks, and slipped out of the house.
    * * *
    Within moments, I was in my car and zooming toward the Edmunds’ house. I was glad that Dad seemed to be on my side for this whole Charlie dinner thing, but the sight of my mom crying still made me feel sick. I cranked up my feeble speakers to their max.