Free Fear and Laundry by Elizabeth Myles Page A

out.
    Putting her hands into a pair of oven mitts, Lia opened the oven and withdrew the pizza pan, dropping it onto the counter with a clatter. “Guess he decided to pass,” she said when she turned back around and saw her brother had gone.
    “On dinner, too?” I said.
    She gave a disinterested shrug. “Open that drawer and get me the pizza cutter, would you?”
    ***

    L ia and I ate dinner in front of the television, watching re-runs for a while after her Breakfast Club video ended. Lia wanted to move the coffee table out of the way and camp out in the living room, so we went into her bedroom to change clothes and grab sleeping bags.
    Clyde 2 trotted in just as we’d finished arranging our pallets on the living room floor. Lia gathered him to her chest, cooing and talking to him. “Mommy’s had a rough day, hasn’t she? Yes, she has. Yes, she has .” She held the cat up, touching his nose to hers. He hissed and swiped a claw at her but she ignored it, lowering him with her to the floor. I turned out the table lamp and fluffed my pillow.
    “Vee?” I heard Lia’s sleeping bag rustle as she fidgeted beside me. “When Clyde comes to Carreen, you think he’ll stay at the Crawford?”
    I hadn’t thought about it, since before today I’d never seriously believed Clyde would return. But I realized Lia might be right. The Crawford was one of the nicest hotels in town. A lot of VIPs stayed there. But it wasn’t the only possibility. The Vega across town, for instance, was also known for being fairly fancy. Most of Elyse and John’s out-of-town anniversary party guests were booked over there.
    Still, I guessed what she was getting at. “Forget it,” I said.
    “Your mom could get us in to see him,” she said, not asking. “So we could get the interview.”
    I shook my head against the pillow and said “No.” I explained the Crawford took its responsibility for guests’ privacy pretty seriously. My mother could potentially get in a lot of trouble for using her position to let someone gain access to any guest, let alone a VIP like Clyde, and I knew she’d never risk it.
    “Vee, everyone’s going to be expecting me to run an interview with Clyde Kameron.”
    “Whose fault is that?!”
    “This isn’t all about saving my own reputation,” she tried to convince me. “You heard what Roy said. We’ve got to sell a lot more magazines if we want to raise enough money to save Lynch’s. You know an interview with Clyde would move a ton of issues.”
    “I’m sure it would. But I told you: Mom would never go for it. She could get fired for something like that.”
    “Then she doesn’t have to be involved. Or even know about it. We can sneak in. Who knows that place better than you do?”
    “Um, no ,” I repeated. “My mom would kill me if she found out.” Then I’ll really never get to drive , I thought.
    “Yeah right, Vee,” she said, frustrated. “You’re mom’s never even grounded you once in your entire life.”
    “Look, I’ll help you try to get an interview.” Since there doesn’t seem to be any choice , I added to myself. “But it can’t involve the Crawford. We’ll have to find some other way to do it.”
    I heard her roll over, grumbling that she couldn’t understand me, she really couldn’t.
    “What’re you talking about?” I asked.
    I slept with pictures of movie maniacs over my bed, she explained, and probably thought that meant I was “daring or something.” When in reality I was nothing but a “big weenie.”
    I was not, I protested.
    I heard more rustling and imagined her pulling the top of her sleeping bag up to her chin. I listened for a while, waiting for her to say something else but she didn’t. Eventually I heard the steady rhythm of her breathing and realized she’d fallen asleep.
    ***

    H ours later, I still lay wide awake, thinking that deep down I knew what Lia’d said was true: I really was a big weenie. And rather than let it deter her, I knew Lia would