Joey Pigza Loses Control Read Free Page A

he was holding the box of patches. “I’ll change it every day like I do my nicotine patch, or every other day depending—”
    Mom cut him off. “Just follow the prescription,” she said sharply. “Joey will tell you.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” he said.
    â€œBut I do,” Mom replied. “You might mess with my head. But if you mess with this kid …” She didn’t finish her thought out loud because she had finished it in her mind so many times, and it was making her so huffy she was about to lose it. So it was my turn again to help her out.
    I reached for her hand and when she glanced over at me I winked our giant eye-squishing secret wink, which was a reminder to chill out. She smiled and instead of going off the deep end, she stooped down by
my side, fixed the hair back over my getting-better bald spot, then gave me a hug. “Call me,” she whispered in my ear. “Call often so I can say I love you.” Then she turned, stiffly marched like a windup toy soldier toward the car, got in, and drove off.

3
    STORYBOOK LAND
    Mom was disappearing down the road and Dad was shifting around in front of me with his arms and legs crossing back and forth like he was sharpening knives. He was wired . No doubt about it. When I looked in a mirror I could see it in my eyes, and now I could see it in his. Even with my medicine working real good, I felt nervous inside he was so hyper. Now I knew what Mom meant when she said he was like me, only bigger . He was taller than me too. He had long arms and pointy elbows and a humming sound came out of his body as if he was run by an electric motor. I took a deep breath and even though my insides were churning I was determined to stand there and be as stiff as the rusted-up Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz.
    â€œWell, Joey,” Dad said with a grin rocking back and
forth on his face like a canoe on high seas, “you can call me Carter.” And he stuck out his hand to shake.
    I knew I’d never call him that. But before I could call him the one important word I had waited so long to use, Grandma stepped forward.
    â€œTruce,” she barked, and stuck out her wrinkled old hand which looked like a dried fish. “Since you’re gonna be here for a while we might as well get along.”
    She had her hair cut short and slicked all the way forward with something so shiny I thought it was covered with Christmas tree tinsel.
    â€œCome on,” Grandma persisted, and poked her hand forward again. “Don’t make me think you aren’t happy to see me.”
    I squinted back at her because the sun reflected off her hair and directly into my eyes.
    â€œNo,” I said, and began to say that I was happy to see her, because the last time I saw her she had been walking off down the street and I figured she was washed down the sewer drain where I found her shoe and nothing else, but she jerked her head back before I could say so.
    â€œ No! ” she squawked like a parrot. “Did you say ‘no’? Well, I can see already that you have stopped using the good manners I taught you when you lived with me. ”
    â€œI have manners,” I said, with my voice sounding tight. “Mom makes me use manners. Have I done anything
wrong yet? No. Have I said anything mean? No. I’m polite.”
    I still hadn’t moved an inch except for my mouth, which was now all oiled up from defending myself.
    Grandma clamped her lips together and turned away to glare over at Carter. “I told you how that person lets him run the show,” she complained, and gasped for breath. “The cart leadin’ the horse!”
    Carter kept whipping around and finally an uneven sound came out of his mouth like a car engine that wouldn’t start. Then he waved his hand in front of his face as if it were a magic wand and suddenly he went from a stutter to full-speed-ahead talking. “That’s all in the