Maine Squeeze Read Free Page A

responsible,” I said.
    â€œYes, I think you will be,” she said, “but I’m not so sure about the other girls. I just … I’d hate it if anything happened.”
    â€œTo the house?” I asked.
    â€œNot just the house. To them ,” she said. “And to you .”
    â€œOh.” She did have a point there. “But, Mom, we’ll all look after each other—we always do.”
    â€œBut I won’t be here to make sure of it,” she said, her voice quavering.
    â€œMom, don’t worry.” I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. It was a warm and fuzzy moment.
    Then she stepped out of the hug and slapped the poster board on the slatted table. “Read, initial, and sign.”
RULES—SUMMER RESIDENCE
    Â Â  1. No drugs or alcohol allowed.
    Â Â  2. No sleepovers. Especially of the boyfriend variety.
    Â Â  3. The house will be kept clean. To that end, the house will be cleaned once weekly. Uncle Frank and Aunt Sue will be dropping by for random inspections. In fact, the house is subject to inspections by your aunt and uncle at any time.
    Â Â  4. No loud parties. Small gatherings are fine, but do not annoy the neighbors.
    Â Â  5. Each girl will be responsible for her own long-distance phone calls made on the house phone, as well as for excessive Internet connection charges.
    Â Â  6. Any damage done to the house—not that there will be any—will be repaired by the time we get home.
    Â Â  7. The Volvo is only to be driven by you and Colleen—nobody else.
    Â Â  8. No changes will be made around the house.
    Â Â  9. Anyone breaking any of the above rules will be asked to leave the house.
    Â Â  10. I don’t have anything else; it just seemed like there should be 10. Have fun!
    I smiled as I scrawled my signature in purple ink on the first line marked “Signed and Agreed By.”
    Mom carefully inspected my signature, as if I could have forged it. “It’s up to you to post the rules in the kitchen—and get each girl to sign this.” Then, out of nowhere, she started crying. “I don’t want to go,” she said, hugging me, her tears dropping onto my shoulders.
    â€œMom, please,” I said. “You do want to go. You’re not setting Dad loose on the Continent by himself, are you? I mean, he could really give Americans a bad name.”
    My father cleared his throat. “Ahem.”
    â€œOkay, a worse name,” I amended.
    â€œThat’s not what I was thinking about!” he said with a laugh. “Anyway, it’s not as if I’m an embarrassment to anyone.” He stood there, saying this, wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt Mom had given him last Christmas that said “I’m a Mainiac” over the outline of a moose.
    â€œAre you wearing that on the plane ?” I asked.
    â€œGood point.” He ran upstairs to get changed into his traveling clothes, and Mom and I just laughed as we taped the poster board onto the kitchen door.
    I headed to Erica’s house in Portland that afternoon around four o’clock, after a dreadfully sobby drop-off at the airport.
    Dad kept cracking bad jokes about what souvenirs he would bring home for the cats, and Mom kept telling me how to look after the garden, even though she knew I was hopeless when it came to having a green thumb. And she kept crying, too. I guess we never had been separated for as long as we would be that summer. Maybe it was good practice for my leaving home in the fall, like she said, but neither one of us liked it. And okay, so I cried, too. Miserably. Embarrassingly.
    Now, while I was at a stoplight, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that my eyes were only starting to unpuff. I reached over to the passenger seat for my sunglasses and slipped them back on, then stuffed a crumpled Kleenex into the pocket on the driver’s-side door.
    I wasn’t going to cry—I