Perfect Read Free Page A

kept the shirt under my bed, wrapped in a paper bag. I
would take it out whenever I missed him because it had
his smell. Clean and warm, like grass.
    This shirt was a legend. My mother was always trying
to throw it out because of the missing buttons and the
pocket that got ripped off in a football game. But every
time Mom tried to get rid of the shirt, Daddy would rescue
it just in time. It was their special game. "There you are,"
he would say, dragging it out of the Goodwill bag and slipping it hack on. And Mom would wag her finger at him,
pretending to be angry. "Jacob Lee. You are impossible."
This was his cue to chase her all around the house until
he caught her and wrapped her up in his arms, in that big
soft shirt that smelled like him.
    One time last year, right before my birthday, I took the
shirt out from under my bed and jammed my face in it, hard, because I missed him so much. That's when I realized it was all smelled out. I breathed in, and ... nothing.
It Was just a shirt. Just a ratty old shirt that could have
belonged to anyone.

    There wasn't much left in my stash, only a few packages of Fig Newtons and a half-eaten bag of Doritos. I
didn't bother pushing the bureau against the door this
time because I knew Moni and Ape Face wouldn't he up
for a while.
    I sat on the floor of my closet while I ate, breathing in
that mothbally closet smell. One hand on the Fig Newtons, the other on the chips. When I was finished, I put
the empty wrappers back in the box and the box back on
the top shelf of the closet, under the flannel shirt.
    Before going to the bathroom I stood at the top of the
stairs and listened. I could hear Mom and Ape Face laughing together. Who knew "Group of Frogs" was a freaking
comedy?
    In the bathroom I drank a glass of water as fast as I
could. I lifted the toilet seat and stuck my fingers down
my throat, so far down my middle knuckle was touching that little wiggly piece in the hack. I felt my stomach
contract hard and my shoulders hunch up to my ears.
Abracadabra, out came the Doritos, the Fig Newtons, the
milk, the pasta, the chicken cacciatore.
    Just like magic.
    Later, my mother knocked on the door. "Isabelle? May I
collie m?"
    "It's a free country," I said. I was lying in bed with A Separate Peace, this hook we're reading for English.

    "A Separate Peace?" Mom said. "That's one of my
favorites. Have you gotten to the part where Finny shows
Gene the tree?"
    "I'm only on chapter one," I said.
    "Oh. Well, I didn't ruin anything for you by telling you
that. But the tree does become an important symbol in the
novel. Let me know when you get there, and we can discuss it."
    "Uh-huh." I picked the book back up and pretended to
he very busy reading.
    "Isabelle." My mother sat down on the edge of the bed
and took the hook right out of my hand.
    "I'm reading!"
    "Well, I'm talking."
    I looked at the ceiling with my eyeballs. My mother
could talk all night and still not say a thing.
    She reached out to grab a loose thread hanging from
my pajama sleeve. She twisted the thread around her finger, yanked. "So. How was it today?"
    "How was what?"
    "Group therapy."
    "It's called Group, Mom."
    "Okay. How was Group?"
    "Fine."
    "Did you find it helpful?"
    "Not particularly."
    "Well, give it some time."
    I didn't say anything. I just kept looking at the ceiling,
thinking about my stash in the closet, how it was getting
low.

    I felt my mother shifting on the bed. I knew she wanted
me to tell her I was fine. In her head she was probably saying, How did I get one normal daughter and one screwup.'
    Well, guess what your screwup was doing while you
were downstairs planning Ape Face's fabulous writing
career?
    "I need a blank hook," I said. "You know, a journal. For
next Wednesday."
    "Oh?" said my mother. I could hear a little smile in her
voice. "You'll he writing in Group? Great! We'll pick one
up this weekend."
    Yippee.
    I felt her look at me, then away, then at me