The Guy Not Taken Read Online Free PDF Page A

that fateful Thanksgiving feast, and past the photographs on the wall: Jon in his high chair and Nicki and me on the swing set, and Milo dressed in a baby bonnet for Halloween.
    “It’ll be okay,” I said. It sounded like a lie even to my ears. Jon glared at me. He’d gotten taller that summer, and tanned from all the time on the farm, but at that moment he looked like he was five years old and we’d just dropped him off at summer camp and he was trying not to cry.
    “It’s okay for you, you know. You get to leave. Nicki’s going to leave, too. You don’t have to live here with . . .” He cut his eyes toward the staircase, lowered his face, and shook his head.“I’m out of here,” he muttered, and slammed the back door hard enough to make the cabinets rattle.
    When I came back to the darkened family room with the bowl of popcorn, Mike was asleep again, sprawled on the couch. Nicki was standing in front of the television set in a short denim skirt and halter top, her finger on the fast-forward button and an angry look on her face. “I want some blood!” she said as scenes whipped by. “This is ridiculous. Where’s the damn shark?”
    As if in response to her words, the image of a shark filled the screen. “Yeah!” Nicki cheered. “Finally!” But the shark swam away to the strains of the familiar danger theme without doing any damage. Nicki hit the fast-forward button again. “Rip-off,” she muttered. I handed her the popcorn. Mike betrayed his somnolence with a rasping snore. Nicki whipped her head around and glared.
    “Well, I warned him,” she said. She dipped into the bowl of steamy, buttery popcorn and began to delicately apply kernels to Mike’s slack lips. “Milo!” she called softly. Milo trotted over, his truncated tail making vigorous circles and saliva dripping from his wrinkled jowls. He propped his stubby legs on the edge of the couch, then, with a grunt, heaved his entire body up, gave a few noisy snuffles, and began licking Mike’s lips. Mike woke up, spluttering, to find Milo’s muzzle poised as if for a kiss.
    “Gross!” was all he managed before dashing to the bathroom. Milo gazed after him sadly. Mom walked into the family room dressed in a faded pink bathrobe with ripped lace on the collar, holding the telephone.
    “What’s going on in here?”
    “Shh,” Nicki hissed. “We’re watching the shark.”
    Mom squinted into the darkened room, peering at Nicki. “Did you unplug the phone?” she demanded.
    Nicki fluffed her perm, stretched her bare feet on the coffee table, and ignored her.
    “Nicki?”
    “Bug off,” my sister grunted.
    “Look,” Mom said, “I don’t like these calls any more than you do. But we can’t unplug the phone.” She looked at Nicki sternly. “What if there’d been an emergency? What if someone was trying to call?”
    “He never calls,” said Nicki, her eyes on the screen.
    Our mother sighed as if she were being deflated. “Plug it back in,” she said.
    “Fine!” said Nicki. “Miguel!”
    Mike scrambled out of the bathroom. “Sorry, Mrs. Krystal, but . . .”
    “She told you to,” Mom finished. “Nicki . . .” she began.
    “Bug off,” Nicki repeated. On screen, the giant white shark was in the process of devouring what looked like the entire populace of a New England beach. The camera angled in for a closeup and the shark’s eye, obviously plastic, gleamed in the wavery underwater light. I slumped back onto the couch, with my pen and my application. The truth of our situation was so obvious it might as well have been engraved over the fireplace. Dad was never coming back. Mom was going to have to sell the house. I was never going to lose the twenty-five pounds I’d gained from too many late-night pizzas and bowls of cafeteria ice cream, and the cute guy in philosophy class was never going to see me as anything more than a girl who’d lent him a pen once, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to get a VFW scholarship. My family