Tell Me Read Online Free PDF

something better to do?”
    Guess not . . .
    I look at him. He’s got dark glasses and dark straight hair that falls in his face. “Do you have a name other than Possible Genius?”
    â€œYou can call just me Genius.”
    â€œWhat does your mother call you?”
    â€œDifficult.”

    I would like to say that this puffy pink outfit was notwell thought out.
    It bounces when I move.
    The hat is shaped like an upside-down trumpet, and the petals fall in my face.
    I look at myself in the mirror of this one-person bathroom.
    I do not look like a tough flower, okay?
    My mind goes round and round like a hamster on its wheel.
    What if . . .
    My life is going to change and there’s nothing I can do about it?
    My parents don’t love each other anymore?
    My parents need me and I’m not there to help them work things out?
    Peanut can’t cope and isn’t eating?
    Lorenzo finds a new acting partner?
    A petal from the weird hat flops over my eye.
    Blow it back, Anna. You’re a petunia.
    I do this.
    More force, Anna.
    I lean toward the mirror.
    Look, when the other flowers give up, I’m stillblooming.
    I laugh at freezing weather.
    â€œWatch me, world, I’m a petunia.”
    It’s official. I’m now three down on the Things We’ve Never Done Before challenge.
    I open the bathroom door, march into the busy library.
    A girl asks, “What kind of flower are you?”
    â€œThe toughest one in the garden.”
    â€œCool.”
    I twirl—I think that’s appropriate—and walk to the front door. The genius says, “Nice hat.”
    â€œThe flower festival is in eighteen days,” I remind people. I dance around at this news. “We are going to party.” I do my break-dance move.
    A little moonwalk moment now, walking like I’m moving against gravity—Lorenzo and I practiced this for one entire year.
    A man wants to know where the four-day books are. I point.
    A woman wants to know if she can return her past-due books to me. “You need a librarian for that, ma’am.” I shake one of my leaves toward the information desk.
    I do the slide, the funky chicken. I’m not used to working solo—I keep expecting Lorenzo to show up and dance with me. A boy does the funky chicken with some excellent wing action, but it’s not the same.
    Six men wearing shirts with cactuses on them march in.
    The tall snarky lady I saw at the pet cemetery follows them. “Gentlemen, all I’m asking is that your float bring up the rear.”
    One faces her. “You want us to be last, Doria. You want us to give up our number one position for Coleman Crudup? We’re cactuses, not pansies.”
    Her face gets flushed.
    â€œTell Crudup to stop pushing the little guys around, Doria.”
    They march past me. This Doria woman stares at my outfit.
    â€œHello, ma’am, we met at the—”
    She marches past me, too.
    Now a group of kids about my age come in. Their shirts say ROSEMONT MIDDLE SCHOOL JAZZ BAND.
    I bounce from side to side, say, “All rigghhhht . . .the band is here . . .”
    All of them grin except for one pretty blonde girl who is taller than the rest. She walks up to me.
    â€œWho are you?” she demands.
    â€œEase up, Caitlin,” a boy says.
    â€œWho are you?” she says, like I didn’t hear the first time.
    â€œAnna McConnell. Who are you?”
    She looks shocked, like I’m supposed to know. Hands on her hips. “I’m Caitlin Crudup!”
    Hands on my hips, or my stem, actually. “Welcome to the library.”
    She marches past me. The band goes to talk to the genius.
    Now more people are coming into the library. I’ve got a good crowd. That always gives me energy. I’m feeling strong, I’m touching hearts, but it’s hot in this suit.
    The genius walks over. “Okay, that was good. You’re hired—for no