Colonial Madness by Jo Whittemore

Author:Jo Whittemore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

Chapter Nine

Angel didn’t share my opinion. We talked over breakfast, since I was in no mood to eat with Mom. Two cows had licked me during the night.

“Honestly, I can’t blame her,” said Angel. “I would never trick my parents like that.”

I gawked at her as if she’d just declared hot dogs wholesome.

“You trick your parents every day!” I exclaimed. “Pretending to embrace their lifestyle and then borrowing perfume from me!”

“That’s not the same,” she said, scooping up porridge.

“How is it not?”

“It’s not because it’s not,” replied Angel.

“Strong argument.”

Angel put down her spoon. “Look. You and your mom have a bond most people would kill for. And when you lie to her, you break that bond and become just like . . .” She pointed to Dylan and his dad.

I scowled. “I am nothing like Dylan. You take that back.”

“Okay, okay. But you still shouldn’t trick your mom. You guys are supposed to be a team in this thing.”

Angel was right. Mom and I needed to work like a team, and that meant apologizing, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. Gritting my teeth, I approached the table where Mom was sitting with Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke.

“Morning, honey!” chirped Mom. “Sleep well?”

“Two cows licked me,” I told her.

Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke exchanged mystified looks.

“Well, that’s just because you’re so sweet,” said Mom with a sunny smile. “Did you need something?”

“I wanted to . . . apologize,” I said through clenched teeth.

Mom cocked her head to one side. “That doesn’t sound very genuine. Are you lying . . . again?”

Aunt Zoe cleared her throat at Uncle Deke, and the two of them got up from the table.

“No, I’m not lying,” I said.

Mom leaned closer. “Are you lying about not lying?”

“No.”

Mom leaned back. “Are you lying about not lying about not lying?”

“No!” I said, but a laugh escaped. It was hard to stay mad at my mom. “Okay, I really am sorry I upset you.”

“That’s better.” She smiled and held her arms open. I sat down next to her and let her squish me. “Who’s my favorite girl?”

I rolled my eyes. “Me.”

“Who’s your favorite mom?”

“You are.”

“Darn right. And never forget it.”

But an hour later, when the morning challenge came, I kind of did. Each family had to build a chair. A simple chair. Four legs, a seat, and a back.

Instead, Mom and I built the lovechild of stilts and a bookshelf.

“Did they have giraffes in America during colonial times?” I asked as we stood back to inspect our handiwork. “Because I feel that’s the only creature who would benefit from this monstrosity.”

“It’s not that tall,” said Mom, reaching up to pat one of the seats.

I frowned. “And how did we end up with that seat . . . and then another two feet above it?”

“I think one of the seats was supposed to be the back,” said Mom. “But that’s okay! The extra seat underneath just means you and a friend can both enjoy.”

“None of my friends are two feet tall,” I said.

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