Free Split by Mel Bossa Page A

things I saw in his bedroom, one thing stuck out the most: on his bed stand, right beside his Halloween mask, there was a large, hardcover book. I walked over to take a closer look at it. It was least six hundred pages.
    If Nick is dyslexic, then I wonder how long it took him to read it.
    What kind of book would be worth all that time and energy?
    I picked it up and read the title. Professional Cooking: Learn the tricks of the trade, from classical French cuisine to the newest trends .
    A recipe book? Why is Nick reading this? It can’t be for school.
    Just as I was passing out of his room, Mrs. Lund called out. “A table! Et on se grouille!”
    Mrs. Lund insists on speaking French to the kids. I understand most of it, but can’t put two words together without sounding mentally challenged. Nick speaks French fluently, as does Lene.
    Boone, not so much. “I don’t plan on dating no French girls anyway.”
    Upstairs, Johan set the table while Mrs. Lund poured the soup into the bowls. They were square bowls. I had never seen bowls like that. “Hands cleaned?” she asked.
    They weren’t.
    Boone and I went to the bathroom, followed by Lene and her doll. She made us wait while she meticulously scrubbed the doll’s fingers. “Our baby has to be squeaky clean, don’t you think?”
    Boone barked a laugh. “You’re so nuts, squirrels wanna crawl up your ear.”
    The smell of Mrs. Lund’s cooking had begun to make me hungry, and since I hadn’t seen Nick around, I figured I would be okay. I felt my muscles relax and I pulled out my designated chair, and then sat down. “It smells nuh-nice, Mrs. Lund.”
    “Why, thank you, Derek.” She turned to Boone and slapped his shoulder. “See? See how polite he is? He has manners.”
    Boone shot me a murderous stare and picked up his spoon. “That’s ’cause he’s a suckup,” he said with a grin.
    Johan chuckled a little, and we all dove right in. The soup tasted like fall, but without the cold. It was purple and really thin, but filling. I was enjoying it.
    Then, just like that, Nick walked into the kitchen.
    Like magic.
    I hadn’t even heard the front door. He appeared right out of nowhere. And at the wrong time too. I had just put a piece of bread in my mouth. Now it was stuck there, because I couldn’t swallow it. I knew I would choke to death if I tried.
    “Where have you been?” Mrs. Lund asked.
    Nick tucked a loose strand of his ash blond hair behind his ear and shrugged. “Dave’s.”
    Since that fight, David and Nick have been hanging out again. Boone says they see each other all the time.
    “We’ve already started supper, and you know the rule.”
    The rule is, if someone shows up after the first bite has been eaten, that person has to wait until the meal is done, and then have whatever is left over when the table has been cleared.
    “Helga, let him eat. We have a guest.” Johan gestured for Nick to sit down.
    Mrs. Lund didn’t seem pleased at all, but she didn’t say anything.
    Nick went to the sink to rinse his hands, and pulled out the only available chair at the table.
    The one directly facing me.
    My chest tightened as that piece of bread began to slowly disintegrate inside my mouth.
    I finally swallowed it.
    Nick poured himself two ladles of the soup and then started eating as if he hadn’t eaten since last Christmas.
    No one was talking anymore. If it weren’t for the radio, we could have heard each other breathing.
    Lene, who was sitting to Nick’s left, tugged on his shirt. “Will you help me braid Cassandra’s hair after supper?”
    Nick glanced over and winked at her. “Sure thing.”
    “She has to look pretty for her baptism.”
    “Honey,” snapped Mrs. Lund, “I told you, we’re not having a doll baptized.”
    Lene pouted. Her lips are like an upside-down apricot slice. “But, Mom, she’s going to go to hell if we don’t. And her father is Irish, we can’t expect him to accept that.”
    Boone snorted a laugh and soup came