Free The Things You Kiss Goodbye by Leslie Connor Page A

Tuesdays—”
    “Collettis’? You meant Tony?” Favian asked. “Aw, we never see him anymore.”
    “Or visiting with Brady before his practice,” I went on. Ihad not and would not mention that possibly hanging out at Unit 37 once in a while was also on my mind.
    Bampas clanked the serving spoon into the dish and stared me down. “You are asking for your momma or me to do extra driving all over here and there to pick you up every day? Look around the table, Bettina. How many family members do you see?” Avel gave me some help, slowly opening up one hand with five fingers spread wide.
    “I see everyone,” I said, trying not to laugh at my brother. I explained to my father that I would be on a loop that pretty much coordinated with Favian’s and Avel’s activities. At this, I saw my mother nod slightly. If only she would pipe up! Instead, I was on my own. I told Bampas, “I can always borrow someone’s phone if we need to be in touch, and Brady will drive me home, or Tony, and maybe other kids can—”
    “Oh, no, no, no! You won’t be in cars with just everyone,” Bampas said firmly. “I will look at my schedule and let you know what I decide. Let us eat our supper now.”
    “I can also walk.” I couldn’t help adding. “I actually like walking. I’ll get myself wherever you or Momma say—”
    Bampas knocked his knuckles against the table.
“Siopi!”
Something actually flew from his lips when he said it. He seemed even more flustered as he gathered a napkin over his mouth.
    I knew to do like he said and shut up.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................
Fifteen
    I T WAS A LOUSY TIME, LOUSY DAY FOR ME TO VISIT THE dentist. First, leaving at 12:45 would mean missing the end of art class. Second, I had to check in at the office first thing in the morning, get my excuse confirmed with a phone call home, and wait for a med pass. There was always a line. That meant no time to take Cowboy a coffee. I had been trying to get back there. This day, I’d only just catch Brady at my locker. He told me something was up for Friday night, and once again, he wanted me there with him. “We’ll work it out,” he said. He gave my braid a gentle tug and took off.
    That afternoon, Mr. Terrazzi presented the new project for our Commercial Graphics class. He had created acompany—something to do with garden sheds. We were supposed to come up with a logo first, then a complete graphic design package. As he put slides of examples up, I listened to comments and wisecracks alike. I’d figured out that when it comes to any kind of art, you get information from every reaction.
    When he brought the lights up, my head was already swimming with ideas. The art room was the one place at school where I spoke up. I put up my hand when Mr. T called for questions.
    “So, the graphics come before the product, right? I mean, as far as what the public sees. The logo gets the first reaction.”
    “Exactly!” Mr. T tossed a marker into the air and caught it again.
    “Okay, so I’m wondering . . . will you let me do my own company instead of the one you made up?”
    “Ack!” He pretended to stab himself in the chest. He feigned pain. “I have three kids of my own and they bargain with me all day long, Miss Vasilis.”
    “But I have this idea. . . .”
    “Fast food for vampires?” He bit the cap off the marker and had everyone laughing. “No, wait . . . a drive-up tattoo parlor?” More laughing. “Okay, okay. Tell me what you are thinking.”
    “I want to mock up a coffee shop,” I told him, “but something out of the ordinary.” Across the room by the door I heard Big Bonnie Swenson let out an envious sort of sigh. “I’m picturing a Steampunk theme—with paintings on the walls of machines that grind the coffee with big wheels that go around,” I added.
    “Well . . . then we have to adjust the assignment,” he said slowly.