Out of the Box Read Online Free PDF

stop myself. Depending on Mom’s mood, she might see it as a quaint passing interest, or serious competition for the violin, which she knows I hate. She knows how much Dad hates the accordion too, and since I’m not in the mood for another lecture about teenage rebellion, I say nothing.
    â€œYou sound like you’re having fun.” She doesn’t sound particularly happy about it.
    â€œOh, I am,” I say too quickly, then rush to cover up before her feelings get hurt. “I miss you though. Are you doing okay?”
    There’s a long silence, and I can hear her swallow.
    â€œWhat?” I ask. “What is it?”
    Jeanette comes to the door of the living room with a kitchen towel in one hand. She scans my face, and I try to smile to show her that everything’s all right, but I can tell Mom’s on the verge of tears. The silence, and her swallowing, conjures up the image of her face, eyes scrunched together, lips pressed tight. I know she’s shaking her head. “It’s just so hard without you,” she says. “Your father disappears into his office all the time. Our agreement about chores has just fallen by the wayside.”
    â€œOh, Mom, I’m sorry.” I thought it would work so well, the list of chores I’d put on the fridge for them.
    â€œI’m in survival mode.” Mom sniffs. Her voice is shaky, but she’s fought back the tears for the moment. A few years ago, when I started having panic attacks before math tests, she taught me deep breathing techniques, and we started doing yoga and meditation together. She taught me about pulling into a quiet place inside myself where I was safe and strong and able to do anything I put my mind to. I wish she would remember some of those techniques right now.
    Jeanette’s frowning at me.
    â€œMaybe if you talk to him,” I tell Mom. “Calmly, I mean, and—”
    â€œEllie,” Jeanette says, holding out her hand for the phone. “I’ve just remembered something that I need to tell your mother.” The look on her face says I don’t have a choice. I mumble something to Mom and hand over the phone.
    â€œOn second thought, I’ll use the upstairs phone.
    Hang up down here when I pick up, Ellie,” Jeanette says and bounds up to her bedroom. It doesn’t make sense. Surely my aunt can talk to my mother in front of me. What is it that she doesn’t want me to know?

S IX
    â€œM orning, guys,” Jeanette says to four men sprawled on the steps of the stone church. They’re scruffy, dressed in far more clothing than most people wear in July, their faces hardened into scowls. But when they see Jeanette, a few of them break into smiles. One guy is missing two front teeth.
    I’ve seen people like this before. They’re the ones my parents cross the street to get away from in downtown Vancouver. Of course, when Jeanette wanted me to go with her to the soup kitchen where she volunteers, I knew we’d see people like this, but I hadn’t imagined actually talking to them.
    Sarah might have imagined it, though, considering the outfit she picked out for me for today. She’s a strong believer in outfits that fit the situation and she has the closet to prove it. For my trip to the soup kitchen, she gave me scruffy runners, baggy cutoffs held up with a wide black belt, and a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “Tough and street-smart,” she said, waving me out the door. She pulled a backward ballcap down on my head and looked very proud of her creation. Jeanette seemed more amused than anything else, but she didn’t say anything, either for or against, on our way here.
    I’ve already decided not to tell my parents about the soup kitchen. Normally I brag to them about all the crazy stuff Jeanette and I do together, and sometimes my mother declares her sister insane and makes her swear never to take me white-water rafting or