The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl by Barry Lyga

Author:Barry Lyga
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia
Published: 2006-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

IN THE BASEMENT, NEAR THE STEP-FASCIST’S workbench, I inhale gun oil and grease while Mom gets started.

“I cannot believe you did this—”

“Mom, please. Shhh.”

“Do not tell me to be quiet. I am the parent. Did you forget that?”

“No.” I look toward my room. Can’t tell if anything’s going on in there, or if Kyra can hear. I assume she can’t because if she could hear, I think I would die of embarrassment. “I didn’t forget. I was wrong, OK? I know that. But please please please yell at me later.”

“You brought someone into this house without asking first,” she goes on, as if I hadn’t said a word. “You know how I feel about that. You know.”

Oh, yes, I know. “Mom, seriously. I am way sorry. And you can punish me or whatever, but please, just not now.”

“And then you—” She stops, grimacing, clutching her belly. “Oh, God, that’s a hard one. Ugh.” She shakes her head. “Your sister thinks she’s Mia Hamm.”

Half sister, I think, but now’s not the time. “Mom, I swear to God I didn’t plan this. She drove me home because I wanted to show her Schemata. I’m really, really sorry.”

Mom leans back against the workbench and blows a little through her mouth, rubbing her belly. I focus on her face. It creeps me out to see her belly jump when the baby kicks.

“You showed her your comic book?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“I thought you weren’t showing it to anyone yet. Not even Cal.”

“Mom . . .”

She reaches out and touches my cheek, stroking one finger down to my jaw, and for just a second I’m seven years old again. I’m in the basement at the old house and Mom isn’t pregnant and there’s no Kyra and there’s no Schemata, but that’s OK because Dad is upstairs.

“I just want you to be happy, honey,” she tells me. “I’m glad you have a friend you can share things with. But you can’t have a girl in your bedroom with the door closed. You know better than that.”

Oh, God, this again? “Mom, seriously!” I keep my voice down. I would not only die if Kyra heard this stuff, but I’d also be spontaneously resurrected just so that I could die a second time. “Mom, there’s nothing happening. Nothing!”

She winces again as the baby kicks. She pushes against the workbench and huffs and puffs back to standing straight. Before I stop her, she grabs my face with both hands and pulls my head toward her and plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Door open, got it?”

“Got it.”

She nods and waddles off. I wait until I hear her clomping up the stairs before I go back into my room. Kyra’s sitting at the desk, sorting through rough drafts and half-finished pages. She’s absorbed in concentration, her tongue jutting out, a little pink afterthought.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she says back. “Busted?”

“I guess.”

“Do I have to leave?”

“No, but—” No. I’m not going to tell her that we have to keep the door open. That’s just ridiculous.

“But what?”

“Nothing.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?” I’m not sure I like the sudden devious look on her face.

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