What She Left Behind Read Online Free PDF Page B

sure she’s busy.”
    “Actually I would, but I don’t want to miss seeing my mom. She’ll be in a hurry to pick me up.” Billy looks so disappointed that I wish I could change my mind.
    Billy and his mom leave, and the library is empty for a while. Mrs. Evans rearranges the books displayed in the window. I get the urge to shout “Get out of my way! I can’t see!” but I don’t want her calling the cops (i.e., Jack Reynolds) to throw me out of the place, so I keep my mouth shut.
    Mrs. Evans comes over to the table and makes a big production of reaching around me to put away books that have been strewn all over. She sighs as if I’m responsible for the mess. Some kid left a drawing on the table. Mrs. Evans picks it up. With a disgusted frown, she crumples it and throws it away. I think back to another piece of paper destined for the trash. It came in the mail addressed to Matt. A pamphlet from Middlebury College. Think Vermont.Snow. Peaceful. Especially peaceful. My dad had it poised over the garbage can as he was sorting the mail, but Matt plucked it away at the last second.
    “Hey, wait,” he said. “I’ve heard of this place. They specialize in languages. You’re assigned to dorms based on the language you’re studying and you have to sign a pact that you’ll only speak in that language.” Matt was a whiz at languages. Mrs. Jameson said that Matt was the best Spanish student she’d had in years. Spanish is the only foreign language you can take in Scottsfield, but Matt didn’t let that stop him. He borrowed Teach Yourself Chinese CDs from the library and listened to them at home for fun.
    “You don’t need to learn a foreign language to live in Scottsfield,” said Dad. “Everyone speaks English here. Besides, we don’t have the money for a fancy private college. Brookton Community College will do just fine. You can live at home and work at the hardware store on weekends to pay for it. End of story.” Dad snatched the flyer from Matt’s hand, ripped it in half, and stuffed it in the trash.
    Matt reached defiantly into the garbage can and pulled it back out. Then Dad punched Matt in the face.
    When people asked, Matt said he got the black eye playing baseball with his sister. Which fit really well, since everyone knows I’m terrible at sports. It didn’t of course explain why I would have agreed to play baseball with him in the first place, but most people didn’t make that connection. Just Zach.
    At five minutes before seven, Mrs. Evans flicks the lights, even though I’m the only person there. I stay where I am. At seveno’clock, she turns them out completely. I use the bit of light coming through the picture window to find my way out of the building. Mrs. Evans locks the door behind us and takes off down the street without even a glance at me or a good-bye. It’s only drizzling now, and I’m somewhat dried out from the library, but I’m still miserable from the cold and from how I’m feeling inside.
    In front of the library there’s a red bench next to a planter of flowers. I lay my backpack on the bench and sit on top of it, vaguely hoping it’ll keep the water on the bench from soaking through my pants. I slope forward a little because my history binder is still in my backpack from before lunch. Which, come to think of it, I never ate. Unless you count the ice-cream cone. Which I don’t. I like to eat, most of the time.
    It’s better to think of food than what must have happened to my mom. So I try to think of what I’d eat if I could just imagine something and it would appear right in front of me. Only, I think of spaghetti. Which brings me back to last night. And my dad. Surely Mom isn’t at home fixing supper for him, our plan forgotten. Is she?
    A silver car speeds past going at least forty in a twenty-five. Not my mom’s. But it puts on its brakes a little way down the street and does a U-turn. The car slows as it approaches my bench, and the window comes