The Reinvention of Moxie Roosevelt Read Online Free PDF Page A

for writing poetry.”
    Spinky Spanger wrote poetry? This didn’t mesh with her Rebel image. But then again there was poetry, and there was poetry . I suspected the poetry of Spinky Spanger, if published, would be banned in most states.
    “Cool,” I said.
    I looked around the room, trying to come up with something else Detached and Unique to talk about.
    “You should pounce on the other single,” Spinky said, gesturing toward the door on the left. “The person who lives in the middle room will have to deal with people schlepping in and out all the time. No privacy. And I sing in my sleep,” she added cryptically.
    “Okay,” I agreed. I walked over and peered inside. The room was small, simple, and cozy. There was a closet, a dresser, a desk, and a bed, with a beige blanket folded neatly at its foot. The famous sink gleamed white in the corner. A large window squared a view of the impossibly green lawn of inner campus.
    “So Mox, what do you say we—”
    “Hello, hello!”
    Zounds. Spinky’s question was interrupted by the abominably timed return of Gil and Dallas Kipper.
    I turned to see my mother framed in the doorway, holding a huge suitcase. My father was behind her. They were both staring at Spinky like they were fairly certain they’d just seen her photo on America’s Most Wanted . I saw my mother’s gaze fall on Spinky’s eyebrow ring with a little scowl. Then I saw her gaze drop to the tattoo. The scowl deepened. There was, what they call in the theatre, a pregnant pause.
    “Mom, Dad, this is my roommate, Spinky. Spinky, meet Gil and Dallas,” I said. It came out more like a command than simple good manners.
    I made eye contact with Spinky, furrowing my brow in an attempt to convey to her that I was not responsible for the many possible shortcomings of these two middle-aged humans.
    “Yes, actually, I think you knocked my—”
    I cut my mother off abruptly.
    “My room’s in here—come see!”
    My mother hesitated, still frowning at Spinky. If I knew Dallas Kipper, and believe me I did, she was thinking about taking Spinky to task for charging around like a linebacker, causing innocent people to experience injuries to the posterior region. Not to mention a lecture on the evils of piercing and permanent body art. I walked across the room as fast as I could without sprinting, grabbed my mother’s hand, and physically hauled her across the floor and into my little single.
    “See, what’d I tell you, isn’t it adorable?” I said very loudly. I was concerned that I’d left Gil Kipper in the main room with Spinky. But I knew Gil Kipper too, and dollars to donuts he wasn’t going to say anything at all. He’d simply adjust his watch band and smooth his shirt into place and clear his throat multiple times. It’s just his way.
    “I’m a little concerned,” my mother whispered, “about the situation. I’m not sure Spinky is the best roommate for you.”
    Uh-oh. Whenever my mother said she was “concerned,” it was cause for serious alarm. After a mere running-in-a-walking-zone infraction and a few unconventional personal style choices, my mother had decided Spinky was a Bad Influence. I didn’t have the time or the patience to convince her that Spinky was the best roommate I could have dreamed of. Dallas would never buy it. And with her activism experience, it was quite possible she might march directly to the dean’s office and demand a room switch.
    I had to get my parents out of here!
    “So, thanks,” I said, looking at my shoes. “I can, you know. Take it from here.”
    “Mox, I’m not comfortable—”
    “Mom!” I whispered. “I. Am. Fine.”
    She narrowed her eyes at me. Clearly she was not going gently into that good night.
    “Plus, wow, is it almost three already? There’s that required thing I need to get to—I’ll just throw my bags in my room. Seriously, Mom. You guys should take off because I’ve got to get to this thing. We all do.”
    “What thing?” she asked.