Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle Read Free

the fact that MaryBeth Grabowsky would stick in her two cents.
    Muscle Man reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a silver chain with a charm dangling from it. He tosses it to me.
    Even before I catch it, I know what it is.
    â€œI found it in my closet,” Muscle Man says. “My grandma said that you’d want it.”
    I wrap my fist around the necklace so tight that it hurts my hand. But MaryBeth sees it anyway.
    â€œDid that say BF ?” she asks, and I wonder if she secretly took Miss Evelyn Wood’s course in speed-reading.
    I don’t answer.
    â€œWho is BF?” asks Muscle Man.
    â€œIt’s not anyone’s initials. It stands for ‘Best Friend,’” says MaryBeth. “You only give it to someone very special.”
    â€œIt’s Kebsie’s,” I mumble.
    MaryBeth turns to Muscle Man. “Kebsie Grobser lived here before you. She was a foster kid, like you. Mrs. Kutchner was her foster grandmother too.”
    â€œOh.” Muscle Man seems more interested in straightening out his shoelaces than in learning about Kebsie Grobser.
    â€œKebsie moved back with her mom,” adds MaryBeth.
    â€œShe did?” I ask. “How do you know that?”
    â€œ Everybody knows that. My mom told me.” She turns to Muscle Man. “I don’t remember when Kebsie moved out exactly , but it was a few days before you moved in.”
    â€œForty-two days ago,” I tell her. At least I know that much. But that was all I knew.
    Forty-two days ago, I came back from a four-day visit at Aunt Maria’s and went to call for Kebsie, like I always did, and Mrs. Kutchner told me that she was gone.
    â€œWell, aren’t you glad that I found it on the bottom of my closet?” he asks.
    â€œThat was very nice of you,” says MaryBeth.
    â€œI happen to have superior vision,” says Muscle Man. “Dr. Dan, my eye doctor, says he’s never seen a human being who could see such a great distance. He said that I should be working as a top secret spy or something.”
    â€œYeah, right. Maybe you’ll be the next James Bond.” I mean it as a joke, just like I mean the name Muscle Man as a joke. He’s a pale, skinny kid with dirty hair and a runny nose. There’s nothing muscley about him.
    But Muscle Man doesn’t get it, and as soon as I mention the name James Bond, he smiles.
    For a second, no one speaks. MaryBeth and Muscle Man stare at me, as if they’re waiting for something.
    â€œWhat?” I say, finally.
    MaryBeth puts her hands on her hips. “Well…he did find the charm. Don’t you think this deserves a thank-you?”
    Thanks? What does she want me to say thanks for? For taking the room of my very best friend? For eating Kebsie Grobser’s SpaghettiOs and drinking Kebsie Grobser’s Hi-C? For creeping around a house that, as far as I’m concerned, belongs to Kebsie Grobser?
    I hold back about a million tears, making sure that not a single one escapes and runs across my face. The last thing I want to do is cry in front of Muscle Man and MaryBeth Grabowsky.
    My throat feels too lumpy to say anything anyway. I shove the BF charm into my pocket and race toward home.

Chapter Four
Full Moons, New Moons, Waning Gibbous
    T HAT NIGHT, I have an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach, one that no amount of Oreo cookies can make go away. I am positive about the cookies because as soon as Muscle Man threw me the BF charm, I ran home and ate an entire box.
    The emptiness started the day I learned that Kebsie moved from Ramble Street. Nighttime makes it worse, and sleeping is near impossible. Instead of wrestling with my sheet and pillows, I stare out my bedroom window and think of Kebsie.
    There’s so much to wonder about. I wonder where she lives and if she has her Bobby Sherman poster on the wall and if she has new friends. Mostly I wonder if Kebsie is thinking of me, and if she has an empty feeling