Free Unraveling Isobel by Eileen Cook Page B

to take a time-out and we’d have to sit in different corners. “I don’t have to tell you anything.” I meant to say it firmly, but it came out more like a scared whisper.
    Nathaniel looked at me for a moment more and then shrugged. “Got me there. Well, this heart-to-heart has been fun. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got homework.” He turned and left thekitchen, leaving me trying to catch my breath. I could hear him as he raced up the stairs. My legs suddenly felt weak, and I leaned against the doorframe. I could feel the notches in the wood where generations of Wickham kids had marked their heights.
    I didn’t even have to look to know I didn’t measure up.

Chapter 12
    I had to wonder how Morrigan could have a ballroom but no wireless internet. Where were the priorities? The only internet connection was the computer in Dick’s study. Apart from the fact that I wasn’t keen on spending any time in a room stuffed with dead animal heads, there was the very real chance that Dick would discover that I’d been digging through his family dirt. I was willing to bet his “ho ho ho, we’re all one big, happy family” act would be over. If I was going to play Nancy Drew, then I needed to be clever. Since Nathaniel wasn’t talking to me, I couldn’t ask him for a ride to the library, and Nicole already knew too much, so involving her wasn’t an option. It was times like this I could see the value of having a driver’s license.
    When we lived in the city, being able to drive seemed like more of a hassle than it was worth. Traffic was lousy and therewas never anyplace to park once you got there. There was usually someone around who could drive me, and if there wasn’t, then I could always take public transportation. On Nairne Island there was no public transportation. Not even some sort of hippie VW bus that ran on old cooking oil. The school bus only ran twice a day, so it was less than perfect for my purposes. This is why I was in the garage trying to clean what looked like a century’s worth of cobwebs off a bike.
    My mom poked her head in the garage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”
    â€œNo, thanks. I want to have my own mode of transport, instead of having to wait on other people.” Something fell off the back of the bike and skittered away. I yanked the bike out. The tires looked a bit squishy, but most likely they would make it into town once I pumped them up. There was a rusted basket fixed to the handlebars, and I dumped my backpack in there. “Besides, biking will be fun.”
    My mom didn’t look so sure. She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was thinking I’m not really the cycling sort. To be fair, it’s not just cycling—the term “sporty” isn’t used to describe me. I don’t run unless something is chasing me, and I have some kind of visual-spatial ball deficiency. I’m always that person in gym class who gets smacked in the face with the ball. Volleyball, softball, basketball, those nasty, stinging red rubber dodgeballs … you name it and I’ve eaten it.
    It only took a few minutes to pump the tires up, but I wasalready a little winded from the effort by the time I led the bike out into the yard and straddled it. The bike was pale blue and looked like it was from the 1950s. I told myself the vintage look was in and began pedaling. I would have sworn the road into town had been flat yesterday, but now that I was biking, it was clear there were hills. Lots of hills. It was also clear that my cardio levels were that of an eighty-year-old woman who smoked a few packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day. Nathaniel passed me in his car. He slowed down as he went by. I would have said something, but I was sucking air for all it was worth. He shook his head and then sped off. All I could do was hope that my trip to the library would be worth