Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You Read Free

them.”
    â€œOh no—Daddy isn’t like that. Daddy can be a little cruel sometimes, but definitely, he is not a pig .”
    â€œAnd you know this, how?”
    Â 
    Her? That pug-faced little thing all freckles and elbows? She was a child star on TV?
    Mr. Carmichael had encountered Tink only a few times, and not ever any really good time. Among Merissa’s friends whom she’d been bringing home in recent years, he’d seemed to like Hannah, and Chloe, and Nadia—(though knowing who Nadia’s father was made a distinct impression)—but not Tink Traumer, who’d startled him when Merissa first introduced them by reaching out to shake hands with him, as an adult might have done—“H’lo, Mr. Carmichael! Nice to meet you”—with the kind of smirky-scowl of a smile that you’d have to know Tink to realize wasn’t insolent, or even meant to throw off an adult’s expectations, but just a playful parody of a little-girl-meeting-her-friend’s-daddy-for-the-first-time smile.
    â€œWell! ‘Tink’—that’s your name, is it? ‘Tink’—”
    Mr. Carmichael loomed over Tink awkwardly. At her tallest—and Tink could stretch herself “tall” by sucking in her breath, lifting her shoulders and head, and balancing herself on the balls of her feet like a scrappy featherweight boxer—Tink was just five feet tall; she weighed less than ninety pounds; you’d have thought she was possibly eleven, twelve years old, not, as she’d been at this time, fifteen.
    Merissa recalled, wincing: those months when Tink had virtually shaved her head, and sharp little red-tinged quills were sprouting from her scalp like a bizarre form of thorny plant life. And Tink’s face and forearms were covered in freckles like splatters from a paintbrush, which gave to her lopsided little smile the prankish-quirky look of a mischievous child.
    â€œWell, nice to meet you , Tink. Have a great time, girls.”
    Mr. Carmichael had backed off. The handshake with Tink was quick.
    â€œSorry about my dad,” Merissa said, disappointed that her father hadn’t seemed to like her friend Tink more, “but he’s really, really busy—we almost never see him during the week. He’s—I’m not sure what my dad does —he’s ‘chief legal counsel’ of—”
    Tink laughed. If Merissa’s father hadn’t made any effort to be charming to her, as he usually did with Merissa’s friends, if he had time, it didn’t seem to bother Tink at all. In fact, Tink had to be the only person Merissa had ever met who was amused when others, especially adults, hurriedly left her presence.
    â€œYour dad picks up the signal—Tink doesn’t F with her friends’ dads.”
    â€œTink doesn’t what?”
    â€œTink doesn’t F .”
    Merissa didn’t know whether to be shocked or annoyed—or offended.
    â€œSo, what’s F ?”
    â€œFlirt—Flatter—Fawn Over.”
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    â€œMerissa?”
    â€œY-yes, Mom?”
    â€œWhat are you thinking about, honey? You seem to be lost in space and looking a little . . . sad.”
    Blood rushed to Merissa’s face. “Oh, Mom! I hate it—you spying on me.”
    â€œMerissa, I’m not spying on you—truly. I only asked . . .”
    â€œWell, I’m not thinking about anything, Mom, just going upstairs to start homework. And I am not sad .”
    â€œYou certainly shouldn’t be, honey. Not after this week—all the wonderful things that have happened to you. At least, the ones you’ve told me about.”
    Merissa’s mother laughed. As if this was some kind of joke and not a silly, senseless remark of the kind Merissa’s mother was always making lately, that made you wonder what she was talking about—if she knew more than she let on, or wanted you to think