Free Reasons to Be Happy by Katrina Kittle Page A

cheeks stuffed out, grease and crumbs all over my face I’m sure.
    “Hannah?” He asked it like he wasn’t even sure it was me.
    I couldn’t chew. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.
    “What are—are-are you okay?” he whispered.
    A whole year passed before he moved. He stepped toward me and I bolted. I dropped the grilled cheese sandwich in my hand and ran. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, then I ran outside. I just ran and ran and ran. I ran until I got lost and had to leave a panicked message on my dad’s voice mail.
    Laila came to pick me up. When she hugged me, I tried not to cry.
    “Where’s my dad?” I asked, missing the smell and hug of my own mother.
    Laila looked away and said, “He’s working, hon, so he called me.”
    I knew she lied. What, was he too busy to be bothered if I was lost and wandering L.A.?
    Maybe Sean and Laila could adopt me. They didn’t have any kids of their own.
    I wasn’t brave enough to ask her, though.
    Maybe the plane would be hijacked by terrorists. Maybe we would crash. Maybe I’d never have to deal with Brooke or Brittany or Bebe or Kevin or any of them again.
    But then…I’d never see Jasper again.
    I’d never see Dad again. I thought about my dad at another funeral. That wounded defeat in his eyes at Mom’s. The desperate way he’d held my hand through the whole thing.
    Okay, plane, I take it back. Don’t go down .
    I was nervous for the rest of the flight, afraid I’d jinxed us with my thought.

Reasons to Be Happy:
    None .
    My dad got arrested.
    Again.
    He’s all over the news and Internet, even here in Ohio. I’d been here for one week already. Things were actually going well. Aunt Izzy was awesome. She was letting me log videotape on her Africa documentary. We were having a blast.
    Well, except for the fact that for four days, Dad hadn’t answered my emails or calls. I just thought he was tired of pretending he cared enough to talk to me. Tired of listening to me blather on about canoeing on the Little Miami, climbing at the Urban Krag, taking Latin Dance class at El Meson, or having a picnic on the lawn of the Dayton Art Institute.
    Then came the morning when Aunt Izzy came into my room while it was still dark. She sat on the edge of my bed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, her hair still all messed up. “Hannah Banana,” she whispered, “I have some bad news, sweetie.”
    Dad had been drunk. He’d been drunk for days, apparently, and hadn’t shown up for work on the vampire movie. He’d crashed our Land Rover into a rental car of tourists from Indianapolis. One of them had to go to the hospital with a broken arm, but the rest were okay except for needing some stitches. Both cars were trashed. The pictures in the paper made me feel sick.
    They’d been on the Pacific Coast Highway.
    All the times we’d driven that highway, all the times I’d thought just one wrong move and we’d end up in the ocean . He could’ve fallen over the cliff, been trapped in his car, and drowned.
    He could’ve killed that whole family from Indiana.
    His mug shot was hideous.
    I bet Brooke wouldn’t say he was hot when she saw that picture of him. He looked like he actually was a vampire—so pale with black circles around his eyes, cheeks all gaunt, eyes bloodshot. It hurt me to look at him so ashamed and small.
    He’d spent the night in jail. Who wants to picture their dad in a jail? In an ugly blue jumpsuit? With maybe a scary cell mate? I couldn’t sleep I was so terrified for him.
    His publicist had called Aunt Izzy. So had Sean and Laila. Dad hadn’t talked to either one of us yet. As much as I wanted him to call, I had no idea what I’d say to him. What could you say after something like that?
    What was everyone else saying?
    Oh my God, how could I go to school and face Brooke and the B-Squad? Dad was the only thing I had going for me.
    The confusion made me feel sick; I wanted to kick Dad at the same time I wanted to hide him away