It Had to Be You Read Online Free PDF Page B

would have liked to wear, except her father’s housekeeper wouldn’t let her. Mrs. Mertz bought all Phoebe’s clothing in an expensive children’s store, and today she had laid out a pair of white shorts that emphasized Phoebe’s round stomach and a sleeveless cotton top that had a big strawberry on the front and cut her under the arms.
    “Don’t ever say I’ve never done anything nice for you, Flea Belly.” Reed held up a piece of heavy white paper just a little larger than a paperback book cover “Guess what I’ve got?”
    “I don’t know.” Phoebe spoke cautiously, determined to avoid whatever land mines Reed was laying for her.
    “I’ve got a picture of your mom.”
    Phoebe’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t believe you.”
    He turned the paper over, and she saw that it was, indeed, a photograph, although he flashed it too quickly for her to absorb anything more than the vague impression of a beautiful woman’s face.
    “I found it stuck in the back of Mom’s junk drawer,” he said taking an impatient swipe at the thick, dark bangs hanging in jags to his eyebrows.
    Her legs felt weak, and she knew she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted that photograph. “How do you know it’s her?”
    “I asked my mom.” He cupped it in his hand so Phoebe couldn’t see it and looked at it. “It’s a real good picture, Flea Belly.”
    Phoebe’s heart was pounding so hard she was afraid he would see it. She wanted to snatch the photograph from his hand but she kept still because she knew from painful experience that he would simply hold it out of her reach if she tried.
    She only had one picture of her mother, and it had been taken from so far away that Phoebe couldn’t see her face. Her father never said anything much about her except that she was a dumb blonde who’d looked great in a G-string, and it was too goddamn bad Phoebe hadn’t inherited her body instead of his brains. Phoebe’s ex-stepmother, Cooki, whom her father had divorced last year after she’d had another miscarriage, said that Phoebe’s mom probably wasn’t as bad as Bert made out, but that Bert was a hard man to live with. Phoebe had loved Cooki. She had painted Phoebe’s toenails Pink Parfait and read her exciting stories about real life out of True Confessions magazine.
    “What’ll you give me for it,” Reed said.
    She knew she couldn’t let Reed see how precious the photograph was or he would do something awful to keep her from having it. “I already have lots of pictures of her,” she lied, “so why should I give you anything?”
    He held it up in front of him. “All right. I’ll just tear it up.”
    “No!” She leapt forward, the protest slipping through her lips before she could stop it.
    His dark eyes narrowed in sly triumph, and she felt as if the sharp jaws of a steel trap had just closed around her.
    “How much do you want it?”
    She had begun to tremble. “Just give it to me.”
    “Pull down your pants and I will.”
    “No!”
    “Then I’m going to tear it up.” He clasped the top between his fingers as if he were getting ready to tear it.
    “Don’t!” Her voice was shaking. She bit the inside of her cheek, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from filling with tears. “You don’t want it, Reed. Please give it to me.”
    “I already told you what you have to do, Lard Ass.”
    “No. I’ll tell my dad.”
    “And I’ll tell him you’re a stuck-up little liar. Which one of us do you think he’ll believe?”
    Both of them knew the answer to that question. Bert always took Reed’s side.
    A tear dripped off her jaw onto her cotton top, making an amoeba-shaped smear on the leaf of the strawberry. “Please.”
    “Pull down your pants, or I’ll tear it up.”
    “No!”
    He made a small tear at the top, and she couldn’t hold back a sob of distress.
    “Pull ’em down!”
    “Please, don’t! Please!”
    “Are you going to do it, crybaby?” He lengthened the tear.
    “Yes!