Viola in the Spotlight Read Free Page A

tonight on the roof. Cold sesame noodles and Stewart’s root beer and mini mint chip cheesecakes from Junior’s.”
    “Sorry to interrupt you guys,” Mom says, holding the front door open with her foot. “Well, look at this. The old stoop is back to normal.” My mom beams. “And I’m loving it.”
    Even after that long car ride, my mom looks beautiful, or maybe I just missed her so much that she seems lovelier than ever. She has her hair piled on her head with bobby pins. Her rhinestone-studded reading glasses dangle around her neck like crown jewels. Her brown hair is almost red now, fried from the Afghan sun. She is still no fashionista. Her boyfriend jeans are hiked up with a canvas belt that’s lost its grommets from wear. That’s my mom. No frills and she gets the last bit of use out of whatever she has, whether it’s a tube of toothpaste, a jar of peanut butter, or a canvas belt. “The long-awaited reunion.”
    “Yep,” Andrew says, flipping his bangs to the side and off his face.
    “I like that haircut, Andrew,” Mom says.
    “Thanks, Mrs. Chesterton.”
    “I thought we’d cook out tonight in the backyard,” Mom says.
    “Oh man, we were going to order in,” I complain.
    “You can order in anytime. This is a special night. Dad is firing up the old grill. You know what that means….”
    “Red hamburgers and black hot dogs?” I joke.
    “Your father is very proud of his grilling. And I try not to complain when he does the cooking. We don’t want to discourage your father doing chores— ever . Got it?” Mom says. She looks at Andrew and Caitlin. “And of course, you two are welcome to stay.”
    “Thanks,” Caitlin and Andrew say politely. How can they resist a lame cookout?
    “Grand is coming over, and she’s bringing George,” Mom says.
    “Oh, hallelujah. I love that guy. Wait till you meet him, Caitlin. He looks like Cary Grant.”
    Caitlin actually knows who Cary Grant is, not because she’s a film buff but because black-and-white movies are some of the only ones that her mother lets her watch. Mrs. P liked The Philadelphia Story and The Awful Truth . Turns out they actually enjoy Golden Age of Hollywood slapstick in India. Mrs. Pullapilly doesn’t know about the racy black-and-white movies made pre–Hayes Code in 1930s Hollywood, but if she did, I’m sure she’d ban them from Caitlin’s eyeballs.
    “Is George really as handsome as Cary Grant?” Caitlin asks.
    “Swear.” I turn to Andrew. “You remember George—he was in my movie project at Prefect.”
    “Good actor,” Andrew says.
    I look up at my mom, who watches the three of us with a look of total joy on her face. I may have missed her, but she sure missed me—and my friends. “Do you think Grand is going to marry him?”
    “I hope not. I’m too old to be in another wedding party. But you never know. Love is funny that way. It just sneaks up on you.”
    “And then it ruins your life,” Andrew says.
    Mom throws her head back and laughs. “Don’t be bitter, Andrew.”
    “Too late. I have the haircut to prove it,” Andrew says.
    This is one of the things I like best about Andrew. He has already healed from his breakup with Olivia Olson, even though he is the one who initiated the proceedings.
    He’ll never be one of those people who lets emotions pile up and then has to sort through them (like me). Andrew doesn’t hold grudges, nor does he look back and wish things were different. It’s good to have a sensible BFFAA.
    “I could use a couple of potato peelers in the kitchen,” Mom says as she goes.
    “Let’s give your mom a hand,” Caitlin says, always eager to please authority figures.
    I follow Andrew and Caitlin into the house. I can’t believe it, my first day back—and the summer I have imagined and so carefully planned, detail by detail, is not happening! All my dreams of endless summer afternoons on the roof, hanging out and talking and making movies with my friends, have just gone up in a puff