Free A & L Do Summer by Jan Blazanin

lips to keep from laughing. “Sorry,” I finally manage. “Please just take this invitation to Manny’s graduation party, and I’ll go away.”
    Miss Simmons eyes the envelope and finally takes it from my hand. “When and where is this party?”
    â€œOur house next Saturday, from one to five.” Having done my duty—and nearly escaped with my life—I’m anxious to get away.
    â€œOf course I’ll have to check my calendar, but I can probably come over for a little while,” she says, as if she’d be doing us a favor.
    â€œThat’s…good. Mom will be”—I wrack my brain for the right word—“thrilled.”
    I scamper down the steps and free Carmine. “Well, I guess we’ll see you Saturday,” I call over my shoulder.
    â€œWait,” she says. I stop, and Carmine nearly jerks my shoulder from the socket. “Tell Manfred not to expect a gift from me. I believe a graduation card will be sufficient.”
    â€œOkay,” I choke out. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

eight
    SENIORS HAVE THEIR LAST CLASSES ON THURSDAY, MAY 19. On Friday, school dismisses early so families can prepare for the graduation ceremony at seven that night. Since the weather is clear, Cottonwood Creek holds graduation in the football stadium with seniors’ families and friends sitting in the bleachers. Laurel and I sit in the row behind Mom and Dad and watch Manny and the other 105 members of his class get their diplomas. I get a little misty-eyed when it sinks in that Manny will be gone in three months, and I’ll be able to store my extra stuff in his closet.
    Mom has Dad and me up until almost midnight Friday putting the “finishing touches” on the house for the party on Saturday. Naturally, Manny is absent. Mr. Mattheson, the golf/track/softball coach and history/driver’s ed teacher, is holding an after-graduation open house for all his players/students. When Manny told Mom Friday morning that he felt obligated to go, I choked on the little marshmallow hearts in my cereal. I don’t know one person at Cottonwood Creek High who feels obligated to do anything Mr. Matt says. He’s such a personality powerhouse that his coaching stories put student drivers to sleep behind the wheel. But Manny laid the “senior year” card on the table, and Mom believed him for the thousand-and-first time.
    Wait until next year, when I pull out the list I’m keeping of all the crap Manny’s getting away with because he’s a senior. If Mom needs help putting my senior party together, she’d better adopt Martha Stewart. I’ll be unavailable from April through June.
    At three a.m. I wake to the peaceful rhythm of Manny puking his guts out in the bathroom across the hall. Before I pull the pillow over my ears, I set my alarm for nine o’clock. I’ve decided to prepare something extra special for his breakfast.
    When Manny still hasn’t shown his face by nine thirty Saturday morning, I unlatch his door and send Carmine in to make a wake-up call. Soon I hear the thump of Carmine’s sixty pounds landing in the middle of Manny’s stomach.
    This is followed by a series of gagging sounds and curses. “Carmine, you hairy turd! Get off me!” Although I hate to break up the happy reunion between a boy and his dog, I call Carmine off before Manny wakes up enough to do him any damage.
    When I peek inside his room, Manny is sitting up in bed with the sheets tangled around his waist. His face is the color of wet cement, and his eyes are puffy. “What the hell are you doing, trying to kill me?”
    The thought has crossed my mind.
    â€œNo, I’m trying to keep you from hurting Mom’s feelings. Even though she’s been up since dawn getting ready for your party—the one you haven’t helped with one bit,” I say, slapping down the whole deck of guilt cards,