Antsy Floats Read Free Page B

right?”
    Now he looked like one of those sad clown paintings on velvet.
    â€œUh . . . Yeah, yeah. It’ll be great.” Then he glanced at his wrist like he’s got a watch and said, “I better go. I’ve got some fertilizer to buy for the fireworks.”
    He left, and suddenly I’m feeling like fertilizer.
    I thought about it for a few minutes, then went to see my mom, who was in the master bedroom, also packing.
    â€œI’ve got to get a new bathing suit,” she said.
    â€œYeah, you and Dad.”
    â€œI’ve gained all the weight he’s lost.”
    â€œConservation of matter,” I told her, which was something I got wrong on my science final, proving that we learn from our mistakes, but do we get any do-overs on finals? No! So what’s the use?
    My mom then noticed the way I stood in the doorway, not coming or going.
    â€œSpill it,” she said.
    â€œSpill what?”
    â€œEither you did something or you want something. I’m sure either way it will cause grief or cost money, so you might as well spill it now and get it over with.”
    I paused for a second. “We got a big family cabin on the Plethora , right?”
    â€œWith a balcony,” she said, “for when I vomit.”
    â€œAnd Frankie can’t go ’cause he’s gotta work, right?”
    My mom stopped packing and turned to me. “So?”
    â€œSo . . . what if I brought a friend?”
    Mom figured it out before I said another word. I could see her playing mental Ping-Pong with the idea, then she said, “As much as I love Howie, you know I can’t stand him.”
    â€œTrust me. I know exactly how you feel.”
    She shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes I worry that I’ve instilled too much Catholic guilt in you.”
    â€œYou have,” I tell her, “and you should feel guilty about it.”
    She grinned at that, then she came over and grabbed me in a one-armed hug that could barely reach around me now that I’ve gotten taller than her. It’s the kind of hug that still feels good as long as it’s not in public.
    â€œIf he snores,” she said, “he’s going overboard.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Howie, of course, was thrilled and did everything short of pledging me the life of his firstborn.
    â€œYou’re a great friend, Antsy. Everyone else in the world sucks compared to you.”
    This kind of exaggeration is what you call hyperbole , and Howie’s got a zillion of ’em.
    He went off to tell his mom, who was happy for him but furious that she didn’t get invited, and Howie had to work with her on some anger management techniques.
    The decision to take Howie on the cruise opened up a can of worms that had no bottom. First I had to convince Crawley to take Frankie off the ship’s itinerary and replace him with Howie.
    â€œOut of the question on all counts,” Crawley said. “There’s a sizable fee for changing guests on a cruise, and on top of it, your ingrate of a brother’s plane ticket to Miami is nonrefundable. I won’t throw away one plane ticket just to buy another.”
    â€œHey, I don’t mean to punch a gift horse in the mouth,” I told him, “but I already promised Howie he could go.”
    â€œThen you pay for his ticket.”
    And that was that. So now I was stuck with one of four miserable choices:

    1. I could pay for Howie myself, which, unless I won the lottery, was not gonna happen.
    2. I could tell Howie he had to pay for it, which was not gonna happen either.
    3. I could renege, say sayonara, and leave Howie waving good-bye at the airport.
    4. I could pawn it off on my parents and ask them to pay for it and make my grief theirs.

    I knew they’d do it because they got big hearts, although my dad’s got a pacemaker to keep his going. But before I could even break it to them, I was blindsided by the Birth