Charlotte Cuts It Out Read Free Page A

happened before class. “Oh. My. Lanta! I forgot to tell you!” I say about an inch from her newly made-up face. “I found out QT’s name!”
    She arches an eyebrow. “A real name, or something you invented?” I am not amused. Since Lydia’s never actually seen QT, she doesn’t believe he exists. She claims that we’re together too much for me to have flirtatious moments with someone she’s never seen.
    I scoff. “Real, of course!” I show her my skirt and tell her how it got trapped in my locker. She points out that tornskirts do not prove personhood. I can’t deny that, but I tell her his name anyway. “Reed,” I say. “One of the guys in his class called him that as he dragged him away.”
    â€œWhatever.” She does this offhand gesture thing as we head to lunch. Add that to her weird attitude about the hair show, and if I didn’t love her so much, I’d kill her.

two

    The first thing I see when I get to work after school is my brother Oliver pleading with his wife, Nina, behind the deli/bakery counter. “Come on, honey, please . . .”
    â€œI can’t work another minute, Ollie.” As usual, she pats her protruding belly. “It’s just too stressful, and you know that’s not good for the baby.”
    â€œWhat if we get you some more help?”
    She stares at him as if he should know what she’s thinking. I could tell him, as could everyone else at Pringle’s Market:
I can’t believe you’re trying to make me do something I don’t want to do.
She does this so often that “pulling a Nina” is store code for having a lame excuse. (But we don’t say this in front of Oliver, of course.)
    I try to slip past them to the break room to stash my things—and to avoid getting sucked into today’s drama.
    â€œCharlotte!” Oliver cries. “Thank God you’re here.”
    Crapola!
    I stop, pivot, and glower. My purse slips off my shoulder and I try to shrug it back up, but it slides down to my forearmand digs in. It weighs about a thousand pounds.
    â€œNina’s quitting,” he announces, clearly ignoring my
I’m-not-in-the-mood-to-deal-with-this
look. “Again.”
    I look at him. “You’re getting divorced?”
    Nina pulls off her green apron and huffs. “Of course not!”
    â€œThen it’s too late. As long as you’re a Pringle, there’s no quitting. Simple as that.”
    Nina’s been working here since she was in high school. She knew what she was getting into when she accepted my boneheaded brother’s proposal—in the middle of the produce section, no less. The only thing cheesier would have been if he’d asked her in dairy.
    I fully expect her to bring up Mom, and I’m ready for it. Mom is a freelance statistician, but she maintains our website, negotiates with vendors, and works a register if we’re slammed and she’s here. Nobody can accuse Kimberly Pringle of shirking. But for whatever reason, Nina doesn’t push it.
    As I walk away, I hear Oliver say, “See? I told you Charlotte accepts you.” I roll my eyes.
Spin it any way you need to, Ollie.
    I push open the break room door to find my father and grandfather ready to flee. As soon as he sees me, Dad visibly relaxes. “It’s only Charlotte.”
    â€œAre they still at it?” asks Pops.
    Ralph, the meat and produce manager, comes out of hiding.
    â€œYou’re all cowards.” I drop my backpack onto the floor. “Each. And. Every. One. Of. You.” I hang up my coat and purse, and clock in. “And who’s out there running the storewhile three grown men—the owners and manager of this store, I might add—are hiding from an itty-bitty pregnant lady?”
    â€œThat ‘itty-bitty pregnant lady’ is worse than a rabid wolverine,” says Ralph. He’s practically a Pringle