The Battle of Darcy Lane Read Free Page B

us ate leftover pizza for lunch, and went out back and sat in the loungers on the deck. Lying there, the muscles in my arms ached from all that throwing. My neck hurt from looking up. I kept going over the moves in my head when Mom got a phone call and started saying things like, “Holy cow, do you remember?” and“Stop, I’m going to hurt myself from laughing.” I closed my eyes and wondered who she was talking to—probably my aunt Colleen, who wasn’t really my aunt, just an old friend of Mom’s—and wondered when Peter might get around to kissing me.
    Would I be ready?

    My parents were in front of the TV with wine in their glasses again when I came down after an after-dinner bath. “It’s on again ?”
    â€œIt’s a two-night premiere,” Dad said. “Before it switches to just Fridays.”
    Great. So I’d spend another night being an outcast in my own family. And now Taylor and Alyssa would have more new stuff to talk about that I knew nothing about. “ Please , can I watch?” I pressed my hands together as if in prayer.
    Dad sounded tired. “Julia, honey. We said no.”
    â€œBut Taylor watched it. Alyssa, too.” I could hear the whine in my voice but couldn’t seem to replace it with a tone that was more reasonable, more mature.
    â€œOh, great.” Mom reached for her wine. “Well, if Alyssa watches it!”
    â€œWho’s Alyssa?” Dad asked.
    â€œThe new girl,” Mom said with some sharpness.
    It was clear that that strategy was not going to work, that I’d have to find another way. “Well, can I at least go out in the yard for an hour? Maybe Peter’s out with his telescope or something.”
    Maybe Peter could figure out how to get his hands on the show.
    â€œFine,” Mom said. “But just for an hour. We’re getting up early, and I’m not dragging you around the city all day if you’re exhausted.”
    â€œFine,” I said.
    â€œLook out for cicadas!” Dad said.
    â€œI don’t think they’re coming at all.” I opened the screen door.
    Peter wasn’t out stargazing—we shared a fence at the back of our yards—so I just sat for a while in one of the deck loungers and tried to pick out constellations.
    Big Dipper.
    Big deal.

    I dreamed that I was being followed around the house by a buzzing, long-legged bug. I kept swatting it away but it kept coming back, all dangling and awful-looking, clicking in my face. I grabbed a glass from a kitchencabinet and trapped the bug under it, on the countertop, where I studied its red eyes, its clear wings, its hard brown shell. I pulled a pen out of a drawer with an index card and labeled it, Exhibit A .

5 .
    Being a teacher was in my mom’s blood so she couldn’t shut it down on summer vacation. This trip to the city would probably involve a lesson in the history of skyscrapers or maybe the invention of plumbing. But it was a small price to pay for a shopping trip, and I was happy I’d have Taylor to share head-nodding duties.
    I rang Taylor’s bell Saturday morning, and she answered in her pajamas. “I can’t go.”
    â€œWhat? Why not?”
    â€œI don’t feel good.” She coughed, and I was sure it was fake. Something in the sound of it. Too shallow. Too dry.
    â€œOh.”
    I stopped myself from saying, You were fine yesterday.
    â€œYeah, well.” She coughed again.
    Again: fake.
    I tried not to notice the way she kept looking over my shoulder, but I couldn’t help it. I looked over toward Alyssa’s house and saw some movement in an upstairs window.
    â€œWe’ll go next Saturday instead!” I said. It was genius. “I’ll go tell my mom!”
    â€œNo.” Taylor shook her head and looked down. “You should go. You shouldn’t let your mom down. We’ll do something fun when I feel better.”
    I tried to think of fun