Dreadful Sorry Read Free Page B

go. She needed to do something fun.
    I need to feel Hob's arms around me again...
    She sat up abruptly. Across the room on her desk lay the most recent letter from her father, still unanswered.
Maybe I should just go to Maine after all.
    The month she spent with her father each summer since the divorce was always peaceful. But this year would probably be different. Her father had remarried on Valentine's Day, after what he'd referred to (none too originally, her mother pointed out) as a "Whirlwind courtship." Molly had almost decided to write and tell him she couldn't come; maybe this was the year to get a summer job and stay in Battleboro Heights. Things could never be the same with a stepmother around.
    "You'll just love Paulette," Bill Teague had written in his most recent letter. "She's fifteen years younger than me—and only ten years older than you, Molly. You'll be just like sisters—talking about everything." And then Paulette herself had added a little message to the letter, writing that she was sure they'd be on the same wavelength and would enjoy their time together in the summer, exploring each other's worlds. Her handwriting was round and childish, and Molly could just imagine her voice—all breathless and giggly and California-mellow. When, she'd shown Jen the letter, her mother rolled her eyes.
    "She and your dad are perfectly suited."
    The phone on her bedside table jangled now, but even as she rolled over to answer it, the ringing stopped. Downstairs, Beethoven sank to a hum. Molly was surprised Jen could hear the phone over her music. She went to her desk and read over the results of a chemistry experiment. Then she sat at her word processor and typed up the notes effortlessly, enjoying the click of the keys under her long, competent fingers. While working, at least, she could keep her mind off things.
    She never had problems with schoolwork, and she loved burying herself in academic projects. Molly's science project—charting genetic tendencies in frog reproduction—had won first place in the state science fair that year. And her research paper for history on ancient maps and the development of cartography had won a state award for excellence. Her teachers praised her for never being afraid of hard work. She glanced up with satisfaction at the prize certificates mounted above her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
    Then she heard footsteps running up the stairs. There was a perfunctory tap on the door before Jen threw it open. She stood there, hands on her hips. "You
lied
to me, Molly!
Again!
"
    "What do you mean?" But of course she knew.
    "That was Coach Bascombe on the phone." Jen came into the room and sank onto Molly's bed. "She said you have refused all week to do anything more than get your feet wet."
    "That isn't true—I've gone in up to my thighs." Molly's stomach contracted at the memory.
    "Your thighs!" Jen's face was flushed. "And today you walked out twenty minutes early. She didn't have a dentist appointment at all."
    Molly looked at her chemistry notebook. "That's true," she murmured.
    "What's going on? I don't understand this preposterous behavior. It isn't like you, Molly."
    Molly took a deep breath. She knew this would happen sooner or later. "I
did
get in at the shallow end, but that's all I've been able to manage." She shrugged, glancing up at Jen. "Look, I'm sorry."
    "You should be ashamed of such silliness. It's infantile. You can't keep on this way."
    Molly covered her face with her hands. "I
can't!
" She had to take a stand this time. "You and Coach Bascombe and Mrs. Higley don't understand. You can't make me! I can't even make myself!" Molly dropped her head so her mother wouldn't see she was trying not to cry.
    Jen frowned. "Now look, pull yourself together. Stop acting like some hysterical child. I had no idea you had become this—weak."
    "I haven't
become
anything, Mom. I've always been this weak. I've always been scared of water. It just hasn't