Star Shack Read Online Free PDF

yourself the Sox are going to win the division, and this is the year you’re going to beat me in fantasy baseball.”
    I’m definitely not going there. Instead I take her hand, and we start walking down the beach. Just touching her hand makes my whole body feel alive and awake. I’ve been holding hands with girls since I was thirteen. But that’s the thing: I’ve been holding hands with “girls.” They might as well all be the same. When I hold hands with Annabelle, I’m holding hands with a…person.
    Did I say I’m a sucker for tearjerker movies? Just please, please don’t bring up astrology, I silently beg.
    â€œSo how are your brother and grandma doing?” I ask. That’s a safe topic.
    â€œI just heard from Gabe last night,” she says, her steps falling naturally in sync with mine. “He said they’re in Kazakhstan and they ate horse.”
    â€œHorse, as in…”
    â€œAs in what cowboys ride. No one should eat the Black Stallion.”
    I laugh, even though I’m grossed out. “I am with you on that one. Jeez. This will sound bad…but how did it taste?”
    â€œHe said it was pretty good actually, but you know Gabe. He’ll eat anything.”
    I remember last summer when he ate two bags of clams from Moe’s, the greasiest, oldest seafood in Gingerbread and possibly in the world. “Good point.”
    â€œHe also told me that if I use his computer while he’s gone, he’ll make my senior year a living hell.”
    â€œThat was the best he could come up with? A living hell? That’s not so bad.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have a whole lot going on upstairs,” she says. “Maybe the trip will do him some good. Grandma says he’s a late bloomer.”
    A gull flies low over the water and then ducks in after a fish.
    â€œSome things never change,” I say. “Like Gabe’s brain.”
    â€œWhich, at times, can be a good thing.”
    â€œOr the worst thing ever.”
    She laughs. “Your parents seemed happy yesterday.”
    â€œCan we not talk about it?” I say, rolling my eyes. Obviously Annabelle has seen my parents at their worst, but it’s still less than ideal to have them walking around in some of the gear they test out. Yesterday wasn’t that bad, but my mom mentioned that her next article is on a new line of “sexy skiwear” (her words) for teens, which should be mortifying. Especially if she shows up wearing it at the Opera Café—which she’s been known to do, claiming she needs to get reactions from a crowd. “I think it’s going to get worse. They looked like giant traffic cones.”
    â€œWell, as long as there’s no lederhosen involved,” she says.
    I laugh. A little too loudly. Two years ago my dad posed for an Austrian magazine article on “ski instructors over fifty,” and they had him in lederhosen. Any normal person would do all he could to bury this, but my dad is actually proud of it. He had the picture framed.
    â€œIs he still looking for the picture?” she asks, grinning.
    â€œIt was the first thing he mentioned when we got to the house. He was sure it was here somewhere, and he said he had to find it before the summer was over.”
    â€œGood luck to him on that,” she says.
    We both laugh. Last summer, I took the picture down when I was having one of those my-parents-aren’t-home parties, and Annabelle said she’d help me make it disappear for good. She has it hanging up in her closet in Albany.
    â€œJust be careful he doesn’t learn how to download a copy of it.”
    I think of my dad swearing as he tries to log into his email without my mom’s help. “No worries there. Plus he really liked that it was the original cover. He wouldn’t be as psyched about a copy.”
    â€œYeah, it was a true classic,” Annabelle says. “I keep hoping