Free Al’s Blind Date: The Al Series, Book Six by Constance C. Greene

whispered to Al. She had on her gray sweat pants and sweatshirt. “I’m color coordinated,” she said. “Sure, why not?”
    We went out. Ms. Bolton was still in the changing room.
    â€œO.K., girls,” Big Al said. “This is your first workout?”
    We nodded. Behind us, we heard Ms. Bolton’s door open.
    Big Al’s eyes popped. He squeezed his nose with two fingers and closed his eyes. Then he opened them.
    â€œWooeee,” Big Al sighed.
    We turned. Ms. Bolton was dressed in a lime green leotard over a pink body suit.
    She made Cher look out of shape.
    Al and I were stunned, bowled over. To think that she kept all her gorgeous self under wraps in her baggy clothes and her red tights.
    Amazing.
    â€œI’ve been working out since I was fifteen,” Ms. Bolton said. “I used to be, well, not fat exactly, but sort of spongy. No muscle tone. My brothers turned me on to working out. They got me interested in lifting weights and running and doing sit-ups. Then I went to a fitness center and really got hooked. I can hardly wait to get back into doing that stuff. It makes me feel really great.”
    â€œHey, miss, you wanna stand in my window for a couple hours?” Big Al said. “One look at you, they’ll knock down the doors. How about it? I’d pay.”
    â€œI know,” Al said. “Hang a sign on her that says AFTER and one on me that says BEFORE.”
    She gave Big Al a piercer.
    â€œWhat’s it worth?” she asked him.
    â€œI’ll hafta think about it,” Big Al said.

Twelve
    We walked up the fourteen flights of stairs to our floor when we got home, just in case Sparky’s mom was hiding in the elevator, ready to pounce.
    â€œListen,” Al said, breathing hard along about the tenth floor, “we better make up our minds about this darn party before I have a heart attack. I can’t take all this exercise. First I do the rowing machine, then the jump rope, then the stationary bicycle. Now this. I’m basically a very weak person. I can’t take life in the fast lane. So I’m out of shape. I guess I’m gonna stay that way.”
    â€œWell, let’s call her and tell her we’ll go, then,” I said. “It might be fun. And if we don’t like her nephew, we just split and buzz for the elevator. It isn’t as if we’ve got a long way to go.”
    Al dragged her key up out of her sweatshirt and unlocked her door. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    Al was about to say more when her mother showed up, dangling one of Al’s nerdy new shoes from the extreme tip of one finger. She was painfully distressed.
    â€œAlexandra, what on earth happened?” Al’s mother said. “How are you, dear?” she asked me. I used to be scared of her when Al first moved in down the hall, but now I like her.
    â€œI smelled this perfectly foul odor,” Al’s mother continued, averting her eyes from the offending shoe, “and I traced it to your closet. Well, of course I immediately sprayed the whole place with Rume Fresh, but it still smells. What happened?”
    Al gave her mother a shot of her bilious eyes.
    â€œSparky bombed me,” she said.
    â€œWho is Sparky? One of your friends?”
    â€œMom, Sparky is a dog,” Al said. “He cornered me in the elevator and let fly on account of he took a dislike to me and my new shoes. And I hate ’em too. I wish you wouldn’t buy me shoes, Mom. Let me buy my own, O.K.? Shoes are an expression of a person’s personality and these don’t express my personality, they express yours. I am an individual and these shoes offend me.”
    Then Al ran out of steam. She was like a balloon when the air goes out of it. She collapsed into the nearest chair.
    â€œWhy, Alexandra,” her mother said, “I had no idea you felt that way. I