Trinkets Read Online Free PDF Page A

all, so maybe it’s better to be someone who says it but doesn’t mean it….” She trails off.
    I stare at her. Seriously? She’s choosing to embark on a weird theory about apologies on Derek Godfrey’s porch right now?
    The girl digs into her coat pocket for a second and then says, “Here. Use this.”
    She holds out a small, folded square piece of cotton. It’s lacy and yellow. I yank it out of her hand and mop my shirt with it.
    “You carry this for times when you spill shit all over people?” I snark. Then I realize how bitchy I sound. It’s not this idiot’s fault I’m in a bad mood. I curse the security guard at Nordstrom and low-self-esteem Jean and my wet shirt and Brady Finch and my whole life, before taking a breath. “Sorry,” I mutter.
    The girl looks at me for a second, then says, “See? You just did it.”
    “What?”
    “Said you’re sorry and didn’t mean it,” the girl says. She grabs her yellow handkerchief out of my hand and walks off, down the driveway and into the night.

Leaves & Branches
    It’s starting to drizzle
    as I cut through someone’s side yard
    beginning to bloom with spring flowers.
    Eminem’s “Not Afraid”
    thumps at my back as
    I beeline toward Rachelle’s house.
    I’ve always had a good sense of direction;
    my mom said it was one of the gifts
    I got from my dad and not from her.
    She was always going on about how alike
    we were,
    probably because she knew we weren’t.
    How could we be?
    My dad specializes in strategic planning,
    and I just not-so-strategically
    insulted one of the most popular girls in school.
    I call Rachelle and she answers,
    sounding like she’s in the middle of riding a roller coaster.
    I think I’m gonna stay awhile!
she yells.
    I thought you weren’t having any fun,
I say.
    She covers the mouthpiece for a second,
    then says,
AwmwichJamminjeeyaz!
    What?
I say, and she hisses,
    I said, I’m with Dustin Diaz!
    Who’s that?
I say.
    Wait—he’s going downstairs! Call you tomorrow—
    With that, she hangs up on me.
    The rain starts to come down harder,
    and I duck underneath a big elm tree
    that has probably been giving out shade and oxygen
    for the last fifty years.
    I realize the thing
    about friends you’ve only had for four months
    is that they aren’t going to stand over you
    and protect you with their branches
    and photosynthesize carbon dioxide for you;
    they aren’t going to shelter you from the sun
    and shield you from the rain;
    they’re going to throw you over
    for a guy they barely know
    as you stand there getting wetter
    and wetter.

Mush
    I hate breakfast.
    Especially when it’s oatmeal and especially
    when I have to listen to Jenna’s review
    of her night at the Stegemans’:
    how nice everyone was
    and how much fun they had
    and what a great neighborhood this is
    and how happy she is we moved here.
    We heard from one of the parents
    you kids had a party last night?
    she says, all coy.
Did you go?
    I grunt a nonresponse
    and cram a spoonful of wet oats
    into my mouth.
    She looks at my dad and smirks.
    I guess we don’t get to hear all the juicy details, do we, Ray?
    She leans over to kiss him,
    because that’s what you
    really want to see at nine in the morning:
    your dad and stepmom making out.
    Fortunately, my dad breaks free
    and says he has a big presentation on Monday
    and he needs to go get ready for it,
    which makes sense because
    he’s not really one for public speaking,
    but I still wish that didn’t require him
    to get up and leave me sitting there alone
    eating mush and blueberries
    with the secretary
    he married.

ROMANTIC HISTORY
    My parents met when my mom was just out of college and working as an assistant for an interior design firm in Seattle. Her company was brought in to design one of my dad’s office buildings, a six-story building on Pike Street. He was a brash associate architect then, and after a few weeks of flirting, he asked her out for a drink. She wasn’t sure she should go, because