Stranded by J. T. Dutton

Author:J. T. Dutton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

13

MAYBE I SHOULDN’T HAVE FOUGHT MY COUSIN. Maybe I should have abandoned my Mrs. Steve Allen aspirations because he was a cold fish, pretty nasty with his “yank her hair” business. In Mrs. Boogman’s minivan on the ride home, I told Natalie she could have him.

He still controlled a percentage of my hormones, and he had only to express doubt in her regard and my heart would be fully his again, even if he had acted as if my cousin was on his who-he-had-done-it-with list. I was sure his calling her Li while we wrestled meant something. Maybe he had gotten Natalie pregnant, as I had begun to half believe because of how insane he seemed to make her. To be fair, if I were shipwrecked with Steve on a deserted island, I could see myself thumping my head on a coconut tree every time he wandered into the compound. He brought out the inner Gilligan in me, too.

Poor Boog. Somebody should have been in love with him. He never stroked his imaginary penis or took sides in a girl fight.

Natalie and I were buckled into the backseat of the minivan being chauffeured to Nana’s and away from Mrs. Boogman’s house, where we had chosen to be so disruptive. Mrs. Boogman eyed us in her rearview mirror. Perhaps she believed one of us was about to start frothing at the mouth. I think her money was on me.

“Steve’s family owns the Allen John Deere dealership,” Natalie said, defending the honor of her boyfriend. She seemed to be admitting that she had big plans for her and Steve’s future. I wondered how Bearded Boyfriend fit into the picture. Natalie could be strange and was beginning to seem like she had more secrets than I could count. Mrs. Boogman whipped out her decoder ring to follow the conversation too. She watched us rather than the road and nearly thumped a plastic garbage can as she turned onto Lynn Street. When she pulled into Nana’s drive, Mrs. Boogman pursed her lips to say something but then paused, her hand on the steering wheel.

“Thank you, Mrs. Boogman,” Natalie and I said in unison.

“Uh-huh,” she grunted.

She left tire tread on the pavement as she pulled away.

“Nice impression you made, Kelly Louise.” Natalie turned on me when we were alone.

“I think she was more afraid of you.” I followed behind her into the garage.

Inside, a box of green booties sat by the kitchen door in an area squared off by carpet remnants. The booties were the kind worn by doctors on television shows. A white card in Nana’s handwriting read: “Please use.”

“She’s kidding,” I said.

“No, Kelly Louise, she’s not.” Natalie yanked off her coat and shoes and slipped a pair of booties over her feet.

She confirmed my fears about what they would look like—as if she might start dancing and singing like a leprechaun whose cereal was magically delicious. There was no way I was going to put them on my body. Natalie tugged a pair from the box (like Kleenex) and handed them to me.

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