Charly's Epic Fiascos Read Free Page A

wide hips were either spread out on the bed or else swishing down the staircase toward the kitchen, where she kept up with her never-ending caloric intake. “Charly! Char-lee! Is that you? Don’t you hear me talking to you, girl? Stormy was in here thirty minutes ago. Where’ve you been? Hunh? If you had time to waste, you better have used some of it to pay cable. Did you pay the cable bill? All the stations aren’t coming in—it’s nothing but static on the flat screen. And I gotta record my vampire flick and soaps, you know that.”
    Charly exhaled, closed the door, and dropped her heavy book bag on the floor. She hiked her shoulders, flexing her muscles until they tightened, then released them. She was trying to force her blades to relax, which wasn’t such a good idea. It was really an oxymoron, as Stormy had pointed out many times, because you couldn’t force and relax at the same time.
    â€œSmile. Smile. Smile,” she told herself, trying to make herself feel happier so that Brigette wouldn’t accuse her of having a disrespectful tone. She couldn’t speak to Brigette if she allowed her true emotions to surface. “Ma’am?” she called out, lightening her voice so it wouldn’t reflect the you’re-already-getting-on-my-nerves attitude she had.
    Five raps sounded at the front door, followed by a short pause, then three more knocks. Lola . Charly’s best friend was making her usual appearance, announcing herself with the sound of eight, the amount of letters in her full name. Lola Dowl, no middle name or initial.
    â€œMa’am? Don’t ma’am me when I’m calling you, Charly. Get your grown butt up here and help me slip into this girdle!” Brigette yelled.
    Charly eased the front door open with a hand on her hip and a sinister smile.
    Lola raised her brows, pursed her lips, then walked in. Her shock of naturally bleached-looking blond curly hair was all over her head as usual, and her cinnamon skin, which Charly had never seen blemished, glowed more than normal, making her light blue eyes glow. “Hmm. You don’t even have to tell me. Your look says it all. Let me guess. Brigette’s in one of her I’m-laid-off-and-pissed-at-the-world moods again?” Lola asked, setting her designer leather messenger bag on top of Charly’s antique thrift-store book bag. Lola was superstitious and would never set a purse, or anything resembling one, on the floor. She believed if she did so, she’d go broke.
    â€œCharly! I. Said. Is. That. You?” Brigette yelled again. Stormy’s pretty face popped around the corner, where she faithfully studied in the dining area. She smiled at Lola and shook her head at Charly. “Awful. Just awful. I’ll be so glad when she goes back to work. You better hurry, Charly. Hurry up so you can work on your math,” she reminded, pushing up her glasses on the bridge of her nose, then disappearing.
    Charly waved Lola on. “Come on. You can wait in my room until I see what she wants. Probably some soda,” Charly said, calling pop soda like the New Yorkers she’d heard on television.
    â€œYes, you better hurry, Charly. I heard Mr. Miller’s been on one lately. They said his wife left him for another man, and ever since then he’s been flunking everybody.” Lola pushed back her blond porcupine-looking hairdo, reached a hand into her pocket, then pulled it out, balled up in a fist. She extended it toward Charly. “Here.”
    Charly reached out her hand to take whatever it was Lola was giving. “What’s this?”
    Lola released a wad of bills onto Charly’s palm. “Uncle Steely’s staying with us for a while.”
    Charly nodded, clearly confused by Lola’s statement. “Your uncle’s staying with you. Oh . . . kay? I’m not following.”
    â€œHurry up, Charly! And bring that greedy Lola with you,” Brigette