Free The Care and Handling of Roses With Thorns by Margaret Dilloway Page B

official uniforms today.” I nod. “Very good, Riley.” In time, I hope her dark circles will disappear. If she stays on with me. I’m a terrible fuddy-duddy. So is Grandma, but grandmothers are expected to be, not aunts. Grandma is also generous with giving out pocket money.
    “I told you I wasn’t an idiot.”
    Ah, but the attitude hasn’t changed. “I never said you were.”
    “You implied it.”
    “Good vocabulary, too.” I refuse to argue with her. “Take a compliment when you can get it. You’ll soon find out I rarely give them.”
    • • •
    A T SCHOOL, I buddy Riley up with my female Brad equivalent: Samantha Lee. Brad would of course be my first choice, but he seemed a little bit too taken with Riley for my comfort. So a girl it has to be.
    Samantha has long straight hair, naturally blue-black given her Chinese heritage, that she always wears pulled back, even on the weekends when I see her around town with her equally fastidious parents. “I am the Asian stereotype,” she told me once last year. “Good grades, good girl.”
    “That’s what you should be in high school.” I liked her immediately. “Stereotype or not. I wish all the kids were like you.”
    Samantha and Riley eye each other nervously. “Ready?” Samantha says. She actually appears more frightened than Riley, whose reputation probably precedes her, now that I think about it. Troubled mother who just shipped her kid off on a bus, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the school year. Of course kids are going to talk about Riley. She’s the new bad girl. The one Samantha’s parents probably won’t even let her hang out with. Though they might because Riley is associated with me.
    The transcripts from Riley’s old high school arrived this morning. Let’s just say Riley isn’t working up to her potential. Even in P.E., she got marked down two grades for “refusing to wear uniform.”
    I am more than a little concerned that a kid who tested into the gifted and talented program has not had an advanced class since the sixth grade. Normally, St. Mark’s wouldn’t let in such a subpar student. But Riley’s not a normal case. I tell Dr. O’Malley I’ll whip her into shape.
    • • •
    A T LUNCH, I think about going into the student cafeteria to see how Riley’s doing, and decide to leave her a bit of time first. Time to integrate without Aunt Gal breathing down her neck. For some reason, these students are against having relatives come to school. My parents never embarrassed me. But then, as my mother says, I was born to be old.
    Dara sits beside me. Today she’s wearing a yellow shirtdress, belted at the waist, with a ridiculously full skirt. Her lips are painted coral, which she carefully blots before taking a bite of her egg salad sandwich.
    “Are you wearing a crinoline?” I say, seeing the out-of-place piece of netting poking out from underneath. “When you go retro, you really commit.”
    “You know you’re so jellies.” This is her cutesy way of saying “jealous.” Some kind of young-person slang Dara tries to stay connected with. I don’t even bother. She touches my arm. “Check out the new chemistry teacher.”
    “Where?” I swivel around. “I don’t see him.”
    “Shush! Keep your voice down.”
    “Is that him at three o’clock?” I am pointing. He glances our way. Dara gives a little shriek and bats my hand down.
    “You’re worse than the kids.” I appraise the man candidly from our position. “He’s bound to look over here at some point, anyway.”
    He definitely looks like Dara’s type, with a dark beard and a sort of pompadour swoop over the top of his head. He wears an aqua-colored button-down, sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black slacks with black and white saddle shoes. He is in reasonably good shape, a bit beefy, but solid.
    He glances my way and his cheeks dimple into a grin in the bare spots of his beard. I grin back and feel a silly flush on my face. He is definitely