Girl Unmoored Read Free Page B

real M and what she was after, and M planned on keeping it that way. “I’ll get the mop,” she smiled.
    But my dad said, “No, Margie. Apron can clean it up,” and turned toward the coffee. “You’re not going to forget the tunics again, are you, Apron?”
    “Nope,” I said stepping away from M.
    “What did you say?” Nope was a four-letter word around here.
    “No, Dad,” I said, picking up my bowl, which was plastic, not even scratched. “I will not forget the tunics.”
    He went back to his pouring and I scooped up as much of the soggy mess as I could. “It might finally be our Dies Faustus ,” he chuckled. M didn’t know what that meant, but I did: Lucky Day. “Margie’s never seen a touch football game, American football, the real kind. She’s in for quite a show with all of us old-timers out there, isn’t she?”
    I shook my head.
    When I opened the broom closet, something scurried. I froze. One time we found a raccoon in the corner. I couldn’t see any raccoons anywhere, but the scurry happened again. I stepped closer and saw a scurry this time. It was The Boss, behind the mop, rummaging around in his cage. “Hey,” I cooed. “What are you doing in here?”
    He twitched his salt and pepper whiskers at me and that was all I needed to hear. I picked up his cage and turned around.
    M and my dad were standing by the icebox. “Who put The Boss in there?”
    My dad looked confused, but M looked away. Then we both looked at her.
    “Dad,” I pleaded. “It’s freezing in there.”
    He stepped back. “Margie,” he said carefully. But before he could say any more, she covered her mouth with her hand and ran out the door.
    We both watched her go. I prayed she would run all the way out the front door and back to Brazil, but no such luck. Pretty soon she’d have to, though. Her work visa was only good for a year. Now, she just walked up the stairs, leaving a trail of Fruity Pebbles so she could find her way back for more glue after my dad left.
    My dad sighed. “Sorry, Apron. I’ll tell her she can’t do that again.”
    I put the cage down. “He could have died,” I told him. “Guinea pigs cannot survive below sixty-five degrees, Dad.” Which may or may not have been true. My dad knew just about every fact out there, but hopefully not this one.
    He looked at me, exhausted. “Just try to be a little more patient, okay?” He said this like she was our new maid, which, when I thought about it, made me wish she was. Then she could get fired.
    “Dad,” I said. “You’re still married to Mom, right?”
    He tipped his head at me. “Of course I am. Now get to school, Apron.”
    He walked out the door and I left The Boss on the kitchen table, twitching and munching, while I went back to the closet to get out the mop. The truth was, he looked plenty fine to me. But M hated him almost as much as she hated me. “Why do all you Americans keep rats for pets? It is disgusting.”
    I grabbed the mop. I had never trusted M around The Boss, and now that she dared get close enough to move his cage, who knew what she would do to him next. Maybe she’d even take him out and set him free.
    The Boss stopped munching when he saw me. “Save yourself!” Jesus had warned everyone. But what he should have said was “Tell your owner to get a combination lock.” Because in the real world someone had to save you.

3
Sona si latine loqueris.
Honk if you speak Latin.
    Hello Maine! was wrong as usual. Today was going to be humid, humid!
    When I finally made it to the bike racks at school, the back of my shirt was soaking wet and two seconds later the bell rang.
    Before I got to my desk, I stopped at Rennie’s. Today, her black pigtails were wrapped up in pink bows and her part was so straight it looked like a chalk line. “What, Apron?” she rolled her eyes at me.
    “Hi,” I smiled.
    “Look. I need to talk to you at recess,” she said, suddenly serious.
    “Why?” The last time she said that, she told me