Camo Girl Read Free

espionage. On any given day, he shows up at school acting like a knight, an astronaut, or a spy. Who knows what he’ll fix on next.
    Sometimes I go with him, and other times we play at my house. Today I’m too wrung out for any of it.
    â€œIt’s casino day,” I say, which is convenient because it means I need to go and check on Grammie.
    Zachariah nods sagely. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, offering the slightest formal bow. “Milady.”
    The house is dim, not a lamp lit. I don’t like the feel of it. I snap on the kitchen light and look toward the living room. Grammie is sprawled on the couch with her arm covering her eyes. I swallow hard. This can only mean one thing: a bad day downtown.
    â€œGrammie?”
    â€œElla? Hi, sugar.” She lies motionless. A bad, bad day.
Join the club, Grammie.
    I flop onto the couch opposite her. Maybe she’s hit on something that makes the icky feelings go away. I sprawl and cover my eyes. It’s warm. It’s dark. But I can still see everything. Hear everything. Feel everything.
    I sit up. “What’s for dinner?” One of the things Grammie and I do together that’s kind of fun is cook. She’sgot loads of recipes stored up in her brain. Doesn’t even matter what’s there in the kitchen. Grammie can whip up something out of nothing in no time at all. Egg roll spaghetti, taco lasagna, bean dip surprise. We’ve had a thousand and one whacked-out, spur-of-the-moment meals, never to be heard of again.
    â€œOh, what does it matter?” she moans.
    â€œWell, I’m hungry, so . . .”
    With that, Grammie snaps to. She’s off the sofa like a shot. “Well, of course you are, kiddo. Me too, now’s you mention it.”
    We troop into the kitchen. My stomach is clenched, like it’s storing up for one big growl. I grab a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl.
    Grammie and I consider the options, our stocking feet side by side on the tile. We peer into the pantry, stare into the fridge, survey the countertops for anything inspiring.
    â€œPizza or Chinese?” Grammie says finally.
    â€œI feel more like pizza.”
    â€œGood. Peel me a ten-spot off the wad and make the call.”
    I order us a large cheese with sausage. We know from experience exactly how much to order so we can thrust a single bill at the delivery guy, tip included, and not have to mess with change. We hate asking for change because we don’t like tolook chintzy, if we can help it. And let’s face it, sometimes we can’t. But food delivery shouldn’t be one of those times.
    The pizza is guaranteed to come in thirty minutes or it’s free, so Grammie sets the oven timer. We’ve never won this game, but it passes the time.
    â€œI think today’s the day,” I say. Something eventually has to fall in my favor. It’s just the odds.
    â€œNah,” Grammie says. “I say he makes it just in time. Winner pays, loser pours.”
    We shake hands. Then we sit across from each other at the table with plates, napkins, cups, and a bottle of raspberry seltzer all ready and waiting.
    â€œHow much?” I ask.
    â€œSeventy-two dollars down.” Grammie sighs. “Slots and roulette.”
    I shake my head. “Gotta learn to lay off the roulette.”
    â€œDon’t I know it, baby.” Grammie smacks the table. “Don’t I know it.” Then it’s like she just snaps out of the funk.“What’s up with you?” she says, squinting. “You’re looking like a barrel of fantastic yourself.”
    â€œI’m fine.”
    Grammie clucks her tongue the way only old people can. “Fine’s no good.” She’s on her feet now, coming around the table. Zeroing in. She grabs my face.
    I try to get away. “Don’t look at me.”
    â€œWhere am I supposed to look?”
    I lick her hand. For lack of anything else to do,