Nora Read Free

like a mysterious stranger, I thought, not displeased. A sexy, mysterious stranger with an interesting past.
    Patsy and I don’t look anything alike. She looks like Daddy and I resemble Mother’s family. A thought I hug to my heart. We’re very different in temperament, too. I think things through. Patsy jumps right in. I get better marks than she does, but boys call her up and ask her places. They think she’s the older one. Daddy says she’s too young to start dating.
    Last week Chuck Whipple, new boy in town and already a local sex symbol, called Patsy and asked her to go to a rock concert over in Stamford. His brother was driving, Chuck said.
    Daddy said she could go if she was home by dinnertime. He thought the concert was in the afternoon.
    Well. Talk about scenes!
    Patsy stayed home and sulked.
    â€œIt is ze work of art,” Patsy said, stalking me from behind. “Ze …”
    The doorbell interrupted. Patsy crept to the window and peered out.
    â€œOh, my gawd!” she whispered. “It’s him. I’m outta here, Nor. Keep him talking. Tie him up if you have to. I’ll be back in a flash.”
    Patsy bolted.

Three
    â€œHey.” Chuck Whipple ducked his head and smiled shyly down at his feet. Oozing sex appeal the while. I guess he can’t help it, oozing sex appeal like that. I wonder if it gets sort of boring, though.
    â€œPatsy home?”
    â€œNope. Well, maybe,” I said.
    I admired his dark curly hair and his long eyelashes. He had a cute nose and big ears. What the heck, you can’t have everything.
    â€œYou want to come in?”
    He was already in. Upstairs, it sounded as if someone was moving the furniture around. It was Patsy, changing her outfit.
    â€œHow’d you know where we live?” I said. Chuck came from some romantic place out west. Utah or Idaho, one of those.
    He blushed and his big ears turned red, I was glad to see. He was pretty cool but not as cool as he thought he was. “I was just cruising around,” he said, as if that answered my question.
    â€œHow old are you?” I said.
    â€œFourteen,” he said, blushing some more. “Are you Patsy’s sister?”
    â€œNope. I’m the sitter,” I said. Sometimes I surprise myself.
    â€œSitter?”
    â€œWell,” I said slowly. “Patsy gets a little, you know”—and I put a finger to my head and twirled it to show how Patsy got—“a little loco.”
    Patsy shot into the room. She looked really old. Seventeen, at least. She had on her new black vinyl miniskirt—guaranteed to look and smell like real leather—that Daddy hadn’t seen yet, much less paid for. Her denim shirt was unbuttoned practically to her belly button.
    Chuck and I both blinked. Patsy, in full flower, was awesome, even I had to admit.
    â€œI see you met my sister, Nora,” Patsy said in her huskiest voice.
    â€œYeah,” Chuck said. His eyelids flickered, but he didn’t wink at me. Good thing. I never would’ve forgiven him if he’d winked.
    The conversation limped along. Chuck had moved in during the summer and didn’t know many kids. Patsy filled him in on the school, the teachers, sports, the dos and don’ts of Green Hollow. (That’s where we live, Green Hollow, Connecticut. George Washington stopped here on his way to or from Valley Forge. I can’t remember which. That’s Green Hollow’s claim to fame. I don’t think he actually slept here; he just made a pit stop.)
    I settled in on the couch with Daddy’s Wall Street Journal. I knew Patsy wouldn’t want me to hang around, but I wanted to. So I did. Patsy glared daggers at me, but then, when I didn’t keel over, she pushed her charm button even harder and pretended I wasn’t there. The telephone rang. Usually we fight to see who gets there first. This time I let it ring.
    At last Patsy gave in and answered it. “It’s