Reality Boy by A. S. King

Author:A. S. King
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780316222709
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-10-21T20:00:00+00:00

37

AFTER SCHOOL, Hannah finds me at my locker and asks for a ride home. I’m still mad at her about saying that thing after lunch. Have a sense of humor. Just thinking about it makes my face heat up again.

“Sure,” I say. I don’t say anything else.

When we get outside, it’s colder than it was this morning and I’m suddenly freezing without a coat on. As I wait for the heater to come on, Hannah sits in the passenger’s seat, reading texts on her phone. I open my phone and check my texts, too. There’s one from Lisi, which is a first. What do u want 4 ur bday? Shld I just get u a gift card?

And one from Joe Jr. We leave today for SC. Then FL. Dentist clown still not funny.

I text Joe Jr. back: See you soon. Send me your FL address.

Then I text Lisi back. Send shovel for bd. Digging tunnel to Scotland.

That’s the best I can do for Lisi. Joking. I know she knows I miss her. I don’t think she knows how much I need her, though. I know it’s selfish, but sometimes I don’t know how it was so easy for her to leave me here with these people. How could she do that and then not even call me?

I ask Hannah, “What’s your number?”

She tells me and smiles at me when she says the numbers and I feel my anger subside. Maybe I do need a sense of humor. I add her number to my contacts and I write her a text. Just because I made rule #5 doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

Her phone jingles and she reads it and adds me to her contacts and then texts back. I know.

“So, you remember how to get to my house?” she asks me once we’re free of the school parking lot.

“Yep.”

“Not an easy place to forget, I guess,” she says. “Nor is the fact that you are now dating the junkman’s daughter.”

“You aren’t the junkman’s daughter,” I say.

“I know who I am. You don’t have to break it to me, you know. I’ve lived there my whole life,” she says. “It’s a huge pain in the ass.”

I nod.

She adds, “Do you know how many parents send their girls to the junkman’s daughter’s house for a sleepover party? None. Do you know how many parents send their kids over to play? Yeah. None. And how many come trick-or-treating? That would be… none.”

“Trick-or-treaters are a pain in the ass, anyway,” I say.

She nods her head and asks if I want to hear her punk rock song about being a junkman’s daughter and then she sings it to me without my saying yes. I’m not sure it can qualify as a song because all it is, is yelling and some screaming in the middle and then more yelling and a lot of swearing in the middle and then a big scream—like a death scream—at the end.

“Very cool,” I say.

“You should hear it with a guitar. It’s way better,” she answers.

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