Free All Shook Up by Shelley Pearsall Page A

standing there taking notes about every single word that had been said.
    “Did you and Josh enjoy talking and catching up on school?” Viv asked.
    Note to parents: What do you expect us to answer—
no, we hated each other
?
Please don’t ever put us in the same room again
?
    Ivory cast a polite smile in my direction. “Sure,” she said.
    At that point, I would have predicted there was zero possibility of a friendship developing between the two of us, despite what our parents might have hoped. Ivory and I were complete opposites, that was pretty clear. And with her knitted beret and hippie outfit, she was dangerously close to being the kind of freak I stayed away from like the plague.
    But Ivory didn’t see it that way, I guess.
    As she and her mom walked to their car, Ivory glanced back at the screen door, where I was waiting to turn off the porch light once they reached the driveway. It was a warm and muggy night. Clouds of gnats swarmed around the door, but even with the bugs and the dim pool of yellow light, I could still see what Ivory did when she turned. She lifted two fingers, grinned, and flashed me a peace sign in the darkness. Ivory, it seemed, was not going to give up easily.

15. Solitaire

    I left the Harpy’s job application on the kitchen table that night, hoping my dad would see it when he got home. I put one of his guitar-shaped salt and pepper shakers on the left-hand corner so I could tell if he did. The salt shaker was still in the same place the next morning. And my dad didn’t wake up until it was almost lunchtime. Even then, he looked half asleep as he shuffled into the kitchen in his old blue robe.
    “What’s up, Josh?” he said, squinting at me as if I was surrounded by a too-bright light. “Man, I’m beat this morning. What time is it?” He rubbed his eyes, which had dark smudges of makeup underneath them. Mascara? Eyeliner?
Jeesh.
    “Eleven-thirty.” I moved a jack of spades in my Solitaire game. It was my fifth game of the morning, and I hadn’t won a single one yet.
    “God, is it really that late?” my dad croaked hoarsely, glancing toward the kitchen window. “Where did the morning go?” He moved over to the counter to start the coffeemaker. I watched him scoop the coffee carelessly into the machine like he did every morning. Grains scattered across the counter. “So,” he said, sweeping up the mess with the side of his hand and dumping it back in the canister. “What did you think of Viv?”
    “She was okay.” I tried not to sound very convinced.
    My dad shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, she saved my butt last night. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t brought that stuff over. I’ve got to get my act together and be more organized like your mother, right?” he said, coming over to the table with his coffee and a big box of Cheerios tucked under his arm. “Viv’s pretty different from your mom, isn’t she?”
    I could feel my defend-my-mom side starting to come out. “What do you mean?”
    “Just how she dresses and acts—kind of a nontraditional person, I guess,” he said, sitting down. I slid my cards over to give him more space.
    “Mom’s like that sometimes,” I insisted, although right then I couldn’t come up with any examples that would qualify as nontraditional except for the fact that my mom had season tickets to the summer theater in Boston and once took a pottery class. She also wore flowery-type scarves sometimes.
    “Viv owns a vintage clothing store in town,” my dad said through a mouthful of Cheerios. “It’s called Viv’s Vintage. She sells all kinds of old clothing. Not old like worn-out, but old as in antiques—you know, stuff from the past.”
    Clearly, Ivory did most of her shopping there.
    “So what did you think of her daughter?” my dad continued. “Viv said Ivory came along so she could meet you.”
    I could feel my face redden as I told my dad she was nice but not really my kind of person. Hoping he