Free Frost by Wendy Delsol Page B

little ditty wasn’t kind of catchy. During the first two run-throughs, Mr. Higginbottom and Ms. Bryant sat in the audience and listened to us as a group. On our third time, Mr. Higginbottom walked between the rows.
    “Very nice, Peturson,” he said to Penny. “Breathe, Leblanc, breathe,” was directed at me.
    “No offense,” Penny said once we were finished and retrieving our bags and coats from the auditorium seats, “but you’re chirping out the words. I don’t think you open your mouth wide enough.”
    Chirping?
If only she knew.
    “Tell you what,” Penny continued, “if you help me with the dance moves, I’ll help you with a few vocal basics.”
    “Am I really that bad?”
    “Not bad. Just a little tweety.”
    Great.
Another bird reference. “All right. Let’s team-tackle this thing.”
    My throat was dry, my legs were achy, and I still had a gob of homework to do — nonetheless, focusing on something other than my worries had been a good diversion. The Christmas blizzard still weighed on me heavily and continued to be a taboo topic between Jack and me. Pile onto that my fears for Hulda, and no wonder I welcomed the distraction.

I worked at the store Saturday morning. Penny and I sang and danced that afternoon till we got the giggles and snorts so bad that I accused her of enlarged adenoids and she claimed I peeped. We were both right, which only made us laugh more. I spent my Saturday night at the movies with Penny and Tina and our noses in a big tub of buttery popcorn, which was cool, but still it wasn’t like that heady rush I got just sharing air with Jack. We had last checked in with each other around noon. He was at the lab and expected to be there for a while. “Don’t count on me” was his advice for the evening’s plans.
    Sunday morning, I got my first look at my dad’s new digs in Walden.
    “I like it,” I said, trailing my hand across the sleek gray kitchen countertop.
    “It’s temporary,” he said, “but at least it’s recently remodeled.”
    As a college town with more in the way of shops and restaurants, Walden was a better fit for my dad than Norse Falls.
    “So where are we having brunch?” I asked.
    “Wherever you and Brigid want to go.”
    “Brigid?”
    “I invited her. She’ll be here any minute.”
    “Why didn’t you ask me?”
    “Ask you what?”
    “If I wanted her to join us.”
    “Why wouldn’t you?”
    “What are you guys — like dating?”
    “Hon, you’re overreacting. It’s just breakfast.”
    Uh-huh.
And once upon a time my parents had sat me down
just to chat.
    The doorbell rang. My dad ran for it like a birthday boy for a tower of gifts.
Just breakfast — my foot.
    Brigid walked in looking even more fetching than she had six days ago. She wore welded-on jeans, heeled boots, and a short fur: brown and spotted this time and still incredibly real-looking. Wouldn’t environmental types be into the whole PC gamut: Save the Whales, Go Vegan, PETA Forever?
    “Sorry I’m late,” she said, handing her coat to my dad like he was some kind of manservant. “We worked into the wee hours last night.” She turned to me. “How’s Jack feeling this morning?”
    Something about her having last contact had me breathing through my nose and had my right foot itching to do a bull-like scrape at the ground. “Fine,” I replied, knowing it would take more than hard work to get the better of him.
    “Who’s hungry?” my dad asked. “And where should we go?”
    “I hear the Pantree is very good,” Brigid said.
    “Green Eggs is better,” I chimed in.
    We stared each other down.
    “I’m getting the C.A.T. in the Hat omelet,” I said, folding my menu.
    “It’s not really cat, is it?” my dad said with a grimace.
    “Cheddar, avocado, and tomato,” I replied.
    “Sounds delicious,” Brigid said.
    I glanced down quickly at her coat, wondering
Which one?
    The restaurant was packed, and the waitress took her time getting to us. I don’t like bad