Free Still a Work in Progress by Jo Knowles Page A

this to my dad’s new girlfriend for Christmas,” he says.
    “What is it?”
    “It’s a symbolic work of art. Can’t you tell? The caved-in side represents”— he thinks for a minute —“what she’s done to my life.”
    “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”
    “I don’t want her to appreciate it. I want her to feel my pain and know she’s the cause of it.”
    “I didn’t know you were in pain.”
    “I’m in agony.”
    “You hide it well.”
    “Agony comes in different shapes and sizes.”
    “Why are you in agony? What did your dad’s girlfriend ever do to you?”
    “As long as she’s in the picture, my parents will never get back together.” He pokes the indent so it sags even more.
    “You can fix that, you know,” I say.
    “Why would I want to fix it?”
    I give up.
    “She’s the reason I’m an emu,” he tells me. “If it weren’t for her, I could be your average, cheerful all-American kid. Instead”— he gestures to his dark clothes and makes a mopey face —“this.”
    “Emo,”
I correct him. “And I don’t think if you call yourself that, you really are.”
    “What do you know?” he says.
    We put our bowls on the tray with the other bowls waiting to be glazed or fired, then walk over to Curly, who is sunning herself on the dry shelf in front of the window.
    “How many mice do you think she actually kills every day?” Ryan asks.
    “I don’t know. Hopefully not more than one. Isn’t that what the Tank said?”
    “Still. That adds up to three hundred and sixty-five murders a year. Minimum.”
    “It’s a lot.”
    “Especially for someone so puny.”
    She looks up at us and purrs, asking for a pat. But I can’t bring myself to touch her weird skin, so I just kind of gently rub her back through her vest. Today’s is blue with a gray Totoro on the back, smiling up at me.
    “Class is over,” Ms. Cliff sort of sings. “Make sure you put everything you leave out of Curly’s reach!”
    I follow Ryan out to the hall and nearly plow into him as soon as we step outside, because he has stopped in his tracks.
    “What. Is. That?” he asks.
    I look. Sam and Molly appear to be making out at Sam’s locker. We step closer, and sure enough, that is exactly what we see. They seem totally oblivious of the growing crowd entering the hall.
    “Unbelievable,” Ryan says. “Sam gets his first kiss before us?”
    “I didn’t know it was a competition,” I say.
    As we walk by, Ryan bumps into Sam. “Get a room,” he says.
    “Hey!” Sam wipes his mouth. His lips are bright red. So are his cheeks.
    Molly stares at him like he’s a super stud. “See you later,” she says, then kisses him on the cheek.
    Ryan shakes his head and opens his locker in disgust.
    “What?” Sam asks.
    “You,” Ryan says. He grabs a book and slams his locker.
    “Huh?”
    Instead of answering, Ryan storms down the hall.
    “Boy,” Sam says, “I never thought Ryan would be the jealous type.”
    We watch Ryan turn the corner at the end of the hall and go into Madame Estelle’s room, then bolt back out, covering his mouth and nose. “Stupid Fart Squad!” he yells. He kicks a locker door and storms away.
    “Wow. He used to want to be a member,” Sam says, grabbing his French book. “He’s been acting weird ever since I started dating Molly.”
    I don’t deny it.
    “We need to find someone for him before he drives me crazy.”
    “But who?” I ask.
    “I’m not sure. Sadie? I know he has a crush on her.”
    My heart sinks.
    “No offense or anything,” he says. “I know you probably kind of like her. But I think if anything was going to happen with the two of you, it would have. That ship has sailed. You really blew your chance at the dance, Noah.”
    “I thought she was dating Tate. Why would I have made a move at the dance?”
    “They have an open relationship,” Sam says, acting all sophisticated.
    “What the heck does that mean?”
    He pushes his glasses up his nose. “They can date