Antsy Floats Read Free Page A

said.
    â€œI told you, it’s nothing.”
    From there, the whole thing slipped into the standard “you’re-working-too-hard-you’re-not-taking-care-of-yourself” lecture, which my dad gets about every second Tuesday and which has probably kept him alive for the past six months since my mom is absolutely right. My dad usually listens to her when she tells him he needs to slow down. This time, however, Dad didn’t give in. He started making excuses and rationalizations. The manager’s just not pulling his weight at the restaurant, Frankie’s college tuition has gone up, and so on and so forth.
    By now even Frankie had looked up, probably because they mentioned his name. We now all realized that this was a duel. A line had been drawn in the sand of the Zen garden.
    â€œYou need to take some time off,” my mom said, “period, the end.”
    â€œWe cannot afford a vacation right now, so it’s out of the question.”
    â€œSo spend some time around the house.”
    â€œYeah, right, because that’s not stressful, is it?” My dad took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Drop it.”
    The rest of the meal went on in silence. Just clattering forks, my mom slapping my hand for reaching over her plate for the salt. The usual.
    It wasn’t until we brought our plates to the sink that Mom said, “Antsy, tell your father about Mr. Crawley’s invitation.”
    I had already told him about it and was about to say so—but I stopped myself, because maybe I got a little bit of that mental filter after all.
    â€œMaybe we can go on that cruise after all,” my mom said.
    That’s the moment I realized that, for the first time in history, my dad was engaging in a secret, underhanded ploy. I gotta tell you, I was proud of him.

CHAPTER 2
    VELVETEEN HOWIE, WARM NUTS, AND MY FIRST FEDERAL OFFENSE
    THE WAY I SEE IT, THE BEST NEGOTIATIONS ARE THE kind where everybody wins, and no one realizes they’ve been tricked. Take the sale of the island of Manhattan. The Dutch got themselves a whole island—which they needed because the Netherlands is sinking—and in exchange, the Indians got a bunch of beads.
    Okay, maybe that’s not a good example, but the point is, my mom got more than beads. Sure, she hated boats, but she hated the idea of Dad dying even more. In the end, she got to feel like she was saving his life, and, as long as he didn’t croak on the ship, everyone got what they wanted.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    When Ira left for Israel and Hamid for Canada, Howie showed up at my door at eight in the morning and rang my bell repeatedly until someone answered it. The second I heard his voice downstairs, I got out of bed and hid my half-packed suitcase. I hadn’t told Howie we were going on the cruise. I mean, I didn’t want to burst his bubble on account of he had so few bubbles to begin with. So he thundered up the stairs and into my room with a notebook that was filled with scribbles I doubt even he could read.
    â€œI’ve been planning the Fourth of July,” he told me. “I found some recipes online for building your own fireworks out of everyday household items.”
    Although part of me thought it was tempting, I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. At least not with me.
    â€œSorry, Howie,” I told him, “I kinda got other plans.”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “What are we gonna do?”
    â€œWell . . . you know that cruise on the Plethora of the Deep I said I wasn’t going on? Well, it turns out I’m going after all.”
    â€œOh,” Howie said, slowly getting it. “Oh . . . so then you won’t be here for the Fourth of July?”
    â€œI’ll be back, though—and there are other kids around for the Fourth of July, so who cares that I won’t be here; you’ve got the whole neighborhood,