Ten Read Online Free PDF Page B

I said. “Don’t you think, Mom? I’m so glad you’re not a smoker.”
    Mom smiled as she put a plate in the dishwasher. “I agree, and I’m glad you’re not a smoker, either. I hope you never will be.”
    â€œI won’t,” I promised.
    â€œDoes Amanda’s mom smoke?” Sandra asked.
    I wanted to kick her. Instead, I turned very deliberately to Ty and said, “Ty, my darlingest brother, would you like a bite of yummy sausage?”
    â€œTrying to change the subject,” Sandra sang under her breath.
    I pinched off a piece of sausage and held it out. Ty frowned.
    â€œDo I like yummy sausage?”
    â€œYes, Ty, you love yummy sausage, just like you love me, because I’m your favorite sister.”
    Sandra snorted, and I wished she would turn into smoke and disappear. Then I truly would be Ty’s favorite sister, because he’d only have one to choose from. He’d have one sister—me—and I would have zero sisters. And guess what? I would be fine with that.
    It hit me that if Mom wasn’t my mom, Sandra really wouldn’t be my sister, and Ty wouldn’t be my brother. My ribs tightened, because the possibility of no Ty wasn’t allowed in my world.
    As for Sandra . . .
    Usually I felt lucky to have her for a sister, because she was so much fun. Like when she pretended to be a witch for my birthday party, or when we did bottom-bouncing from the top of the stairs to the bottom, and she went “ ow ow ow ” to the exact beat of the bouncing.
    But sometimes? When Sandra did things on purpose to upset me? I almost hated her.
    Ty leaned toward me and touched the piece of sausage with his tongue. “Yuck,” he said, batting it out of my hand and onto the floor. “I do not love yummy sausage.”
    â€œSee?” Sandra said. “Ty doesn’t love yummy sausage, just like you don’t love—”
    â€œI said hush!” I cried. Tears stung my eyes, and I did hate her. I really and truly hated her, and if that made me a horrible person, too bad.
    â€œGirls,” Mom said, leaving the dishes and striding to the table. “Sandra? Drop it.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œDrop it,” Mom repeated.
    I blinked and dug my fingernails into my palms. I would dig my fingernails into Sandra if I could.
    Mom placed her hands on my shoulders. “Winnie, would you come with me to the den, please?”
    â€œWhy?” I said.
    â€œJust for a chat.”
    My heart hammered. I kept my gaze on my plate.
    She squeezed my shoulder. “Come on, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
    I got up, and Mom and I walked together across the kitchen. At the doorway, I spun on my heel.
    â€œ No listening,” I warned.
    â€œLike I’d want to,” Sandra said.
    â€œEat your breakfast, Sandra,” Mom snapped.
    Sandra flinched. I was glad.
    â€œYou too, Ty,” Mom said. “We need to leave for school in ten minutes.”
    In the den, Mom took a seat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. I sat next to her. At first I stayed rigid, like a statue, but when she touched me, I melted and let her pull me close. She stroked my hair. I took a shuddery breath.
    â€œWhat’s up, buttercup?” she said gently.
    I let my gaze go blurry, so that what I saw was Mom plus sofa plus a strand of my own brown hair, only all jumbled together. It was like one of those paintings made up of dots and lines and squiggles, so that when you looked at it, you didn’t see a farmhouse or an apple or whatever. All you saw was a smeary mess.
    â€œSandra is mean,” I said. “She was trying to make me say something when she knew I didn’t want to. And the thing I didn’t want to say . . .”
    I didn’t finish. I shut my eyes and pressed against her.
    â€œSandra’s not mean,” Mom said, because she had to. “But she did take things too far.”
    â€œWill you