Three Little Words Read Online Free PDF Page A

nods.
    â€œCan you hum it for me?”
    Fariza nods again and starts to hum.
    Sid brings a green kazoo to his lips and starts to hum too. Fariza squeals and does the same. After “The Wheels on the Bus,” they hum “Down By the Bay,” “Frère Jacques,” “I’m a Little Teapot,” “Baby Beluga” and “London Bridge.” Fariza doesn’t seem to know “Puff the Magic Dragon” or “Rubber Ducky,” but she claps for Sid when he hums them. When they run out of kids’ songs, they sit and listen to the music that wafts through the open windows. When Sid hears a song he likes, he hums along on the kazoo—“Hey Jude,” “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” “Scarborough Fair”—but when someone starts to sing “Bad Moon Rising,” he puts the kazoo down and listens: I see a bad moon risin’ / I see trouble on the way / I see earthquakes and lightnin’ / I see bad times today . Fariza watches him, one hand on Fred, the other clutching the kazoo. When her eyelids start to droop, Sid covers her and Fred with the quilt and sits with her as the sun goes down. A solitary guitarist sings, “ Good night, Irene, good night, Irene / I’ll see you in my dreams ” as the guests start to drift away and the moon rises over the sea.
    The morning after the party, Fariza and Megan sleep in.
    â€œToo much partying,” Caleb says when Sid asks where they are. “Fariza had a bad night. Megan had a hard time calming her down. None of the usual stuff worked. They finally got to sleep as the sun came up.”
    Sid feels guilty—maybe it was a bad idea to let her listen to “Bad Moon Rising.” She sure didn’t need to worry about any more trouble finding her. He’s about to ask Caleb what brought Fariza to the island, when he hears Chloe’s voice coming from the downstairs bathroom. Suddenly he remembers that they had made plans to go to the lake today. Start early and spend the day there. He hasn’t felt like drawing lately and he hasn’t been to the lake since Fariza arrived. He needs a day off.
    The song Chloe is singing is not one he knows. Her taste in music had shifted recently, from angry indie bands to something he can only describe as girly. Her iPod is full of stuff he doesn’t recognize.
    â€œYou’re a musical dinosaur,” she had told him recently.
    â€œFine by me,” he replied. “I always wanted to be a velociraptor.”
    â€œMore like a diplodocus,” she said. “You know—a big dumb vegetarian who likes the Beatles and James Taylor and Simon and Garfunkel.”
    He goes upstairs to his room and changes into some blue board shorts he bought for two bucks at a yard sale. He drapes a threadbare Batman towel over his T-shirt like a cape and goes back downstairs. No Chloe.
    â€œYou ready yet?” Sid bangs on the bathroom door.
    â€œChill out.” Chloe’s voice is muffled. “The lake’s not going anywhere.”
    â€œBut the sun is,” Sid mutters as he puts water bottles and power bars in his pack and then slips on his Vans.
    Lately Chloe has been spending a lot of time fussing with her hair, checking her eye makeup, applying lip gloss every five minutes, it seems. Their trips to the lake used to involve five minutes of preparation: bathing suits under shorts and T-shirts, towels, sunscreen, water, snacks. Stuff everything in a backpack. Jump on their bikes. Things are different now. Not bad; just different.
    When Chloe finally emerges from the bathroom, she is wearing the smallest bikini Sid has ever seen. He looks away, startled by the sight of Chloe’s breasts, which are barely contained by tiny triangles of what looks like the crocheting Megan sometimes does on winter nights. Chloe has clearly gotten over her childhood hatred of her body. She still calls herself the Polish Peasant—she’s