My Life as a Book Read Free

evil eye to stop blocking the entrance to her precious classroom.

    I move out of the way and thank Ms. Williams for the book. When Carly realizes the teacher gave me a present and not her, she lets out a pathetic noise that sounds as if she’s been punched in the gut.
    â€œCarly, are you ready to take Ginger home?” Ms. Williams asks.
    Carly volunteered—of course—to watch the class hedgehog for the summer. She stands near Ginger’s crate like a Secret Service agent guarding the president. Maybe she’ll fall asleep with Ginger on her lap this summer and wake up with marks on her legs from Ginger’s quills.

    When the bell rings at the end of the day, most of the girls hug each other good-bye at the lockers, milking every last second of school time until next September. I vault over the hedge near the school entrance and skid to a halt in front of the crossing guard. When she tells me to have a nice summer, I shout back that I intend to. At home, I throw my backpack onto the porch and let out Bodi. I think about grabbing his leash but decide against it. We’re finally free!

Making Fruit Grenades
    Matt and I get my markers and draw grids on the avocados piled on the kitchen counter. When we finish, we take them outside and stack them like cannonballs. Then we “borrow” three bags of potting soil from the garage, empty them into the middle of the driveway, and build two large mounds. We take our places behind the opposite hills.

    â€œIf we were still in school, we’d be in Social Studies right now.” He pelts me with one of the avocados, which lands in green chunks on my sneaker.
    I hurl an avocado back but miss. “Even worse than Social Studies, we’d be in assembly watching Mr. Demetri sing stupid folk songs and play his guitar.”

    I’m not sure if it’s our explosion noises that bring my mother out of the house, but when I look up she’s standing on the porch watching us bomb each other.
    â€œThey are hand grenades,” I inform her.
    â€œI got it.” She looks at me with that face that tells me I’ve messed up once again. “I was going to use those avocados for dinner.”
    I point to the green mush all over the driveway and our clothes. “They’re still edible. Why don’t you bring out a bag of chips?”

    She closes the door without answering and I know we won’t be seeing chips anytime soon. Besides, Bodi has already eaten the biggest chunks of avocado off the driveway.
    The next person to appear on the porch is my father. One of the good things about having a father who works from home is that he’s always around. Unfortunately, that’s one of the bad things too.
    He places a box of large garbage bags on the stairs. “I assume you two are planning on putting all that potting soil back, right?”
    â€œRight,” Matt and I both pretend to agree.
    Dad takes a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and places it under the box. “Then you can walk to the store and replace those avocados.”
    My father keeps talking, but Matt and I are only focused on the crisp ten-dollar bill calling our names. I’m thinking seven, maybe eight, king-sized candy bars; I bet Matt is thinking the same thing. When my father finally goes inside, Matt and I dive for the money. He gets to it before I do.
    â€œGiant bag of popcorn, a tub of ice cream, or a box of cupcakes with sprinkles?” He snaps the bill at me like it’s a towel in gym class.

    Matt and I skateboard to the grocery store, and I ask the man in the produce department if there are any avocados on sale. He brings out several from the back room that are much cheaper than the ones in the bins. Matt and I have enough money left over to get a quart of chocolate fudge ice cream. We take utensils and napkins from the salad bar, then sit on our skateboards out back to eat.

    â€œGuess where my mom decided we’re going on vacation this