Free Listen, Slowly by Thanhha Lai Page B

even worse when attached to a title. Uncle Longing. Uncle Missing. Aunt You. Aunt Counting. Aunt Each. Uncle Drop. Daddy Rain.
    Not that Montana’s parents did much better. Montana has an older sister named Wyoming. That was when their dad was into the wild, wild West and bought a horse ranch. A movie producer, he then figured out he didn’t know anything about and didn’t care for horses. Montana said he switched interest to his assistant, and they had a baby boy named People. For real, People. So Montana’s mom moved to Laguna and bought the grandest house she could find.
    When I’m furious with Daddy Rain, I call him Thunder, Cloud, Typhoon, Monsoon. But just in my head. Dad has no sense of humor about this. When he got to the United States, Dad tried going by Rain, but that led to many problems among middle schoolers. So he came up with Ray, which has no connection to his given name but gave him some peace. At home, though, he has always been Mưa.

CHAPTER 11
    E verything is still in shadows, and the really loud rooster next door hasn’t even started crowing yet, but I might as well get up. It doesn’t help that a constant seesawing snore blasts from the back room. The detective is staying over because he and Bà talked late into the night. All that talking and I know nothing more. If it had been my choice, I would have shooed him out the door to go do his job. But I have very little say in life right now.
    All yesterday the detective ignored me and catered to Bà, who asked me to wait. I’ve been waiting! Dad sent word through Mom that a patient has had extreme complications and he can’t return to sort out the problem with the guard for a while. How long is “for a while”? Mom texted this news because she was in court and couldn’t talk. I dutifully texted her back saying the phone part isn’t working, but texting is fine. By texting, I can ignore her questions about a “friend.” Just imagining talking to Mom about HIM turns my stomach into a wave pool. In return, Mom ignored how I ended each text with “I wnt 2 go hme.” Texting, though, didn’t prevent her from leaving exasperated voice messages. I get that she’s worried, but I can’t talk to her. Not yet.
    I’m forever creating possibilities in my crazed mind. One, Montana and HE somehow are together, and that will end my obsession. I’m not going to keep liking someone who goes for Montana. Two, they are not together, so I maneuver a way to find out how HE feels about me, but this will encourage Montana if she knows I like HIM. OMG, this one topic has ballooned in my mind for months and I’m right back to square one? I’m starting to bore myself, although I’m still really interested.
    I force myself to get up.
    I step onto the porch in Bà’s pajamas and socks. Whoa, it’s actually cool out. Not beach breezes but for once the air is not nibbling at my skin like thousands of miniature insects. Shadows are moving about. A hint of morning comes from the east, from California.
    I love Laguna in June. That’s when we get this marine layer that covers the air in a gray, cool fog all morning. Montana hates it, saying all that grayness is depressing. Oh, but the air is so cool it’s like standing in water while keeping dry. I made a habit of getting up really early and sitting on the back porch, soaking up the fog until it burned off. If I was lucky, the fog wouldn’t lift at all and I would float among gray clouds all day.
    My favorites are the days when you can literally watch the fog crawl in from the ocean. We’re up the hill, so I get to see thick puffs of white smoke expand into a blanket, hovering above downtown. It looks solid enough to walk on.
    HE’s there, probably downhill skating too fast, curls whipping onto HIS helmet, eyes screaming behind sunglasses even on a cloudy day.
    “Good mornin’, miss.”
    I jump, squealing a little. My translator has got to stop sneaking up on me.
    “Why are you up?”
    “I never slept. I