Free Switched by Jessica Wollman Page A

apart.”
    “Angie’s so excited to meet you,” Benji added. He turned to Laura. “She had a job out in Cornwall today so she didn’t think she was going to make it, but she was able to cut out a little early.”
    As if on cue, the doorbell rang.
    I can do this, I can do this,
Laura repeated to herself.
    Forcing a cheerful look on her face, she opened the door.
    “Laura, this is my daughter, Ang—” Benji began.
    And then Laura’s feet were no longer touching the ground.
    “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!” Angie boomed as she swept Laura into a bone-crushing bear hug. “It’s great to meet you!”
    Laura, her face buried deep in Angie’s armpit, was assaulted by the stench of chlorine. Even if she’d wanted to reply she wouldn’t have been able to. Her throat had closed on impact.
    Please let me pass out soon,
she prayed silently, her eyes tearing.
    After what seemed like forever, Laura felt her feet hit the floor. Hard.
    Angie shoved a finger in Laura’s stricken face. “Tonight is big,” she swore. “Huge.”
    This situation is not about me,
Laura reminded herself.
And tonight is an important night for my mom. And Benji.
    Laura tried. She really did. But the rest of the evening was a catastrophe.
    Once they reached the living room, Angie forced Laura to look at pictures of her boyfriend, a lifeguard at a local swimming pool.
    “I fixed Glenn’s swimming pool last summer—pilot needed a new starter—and it was, like, love at first sight,” Angie said, pointing her beefy index finger at the photo.
    Laura stared at the lifeguard, a scrawny kid covered with zinc oxide.
    “He’s real cute, right?” Angie demanded repeatedly as she flipped through picture after picture.
    Laura couldn’t help noticing that in every shot, Glenn wore the same hesitant, shaky look—and he never smiled. She wondered if maybe Angie had just yanked the kid into one of her death squeezes and the poor guy had simply been too petrified to break things off.
    After the pictures, Angie dragged Laura into the parking lot to stare at her new car, a battered old Trans Am that Angie proudly introduced as Yellow Thunder.
    “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Angie declared.
    Up to that point, Laura had thought it was impossible to find a car in worse shape than her mother’s station wagon, but Angie had managed to do just that. Yellow Thunder looked like it had been tested for combat—and failed miserably. The door on the passenger’s side had been torn off and the gaping hole was patched with a garbage bag. The mirrors were held in place with electrical tape, and there were no hubcaps.
    Still, Laura nodded enthusiastically.
    Big mistake.
    “Hey!” Angie shrieked so loudly that Laura was sure someone in the building was going to call the police. Actually, she
hoped
someone would call the police. “Looks like you got yourself a case of the
mellow yellows
! So how about a lesson?”
    “What?”
    But it was too late. Angie had already popped the car’s rusted hood. “Okay, you
do
know where the restrictor plate is, right?”
    Laura shook her head miserably. Time had definitely stopped. She knew that now.
    “Now, for Yellow Thunder it’s a little different than for most cars ’cause there is none—I took it out. I got rid of the muffler, too. I like to announce my presence with authority. . . .”
    By the time they were called for dinner, Laura was covered with motor oil, grease and a few burns. Slamming down the rusted hood within inches of Laura’s hand, Angie had raced upstairs, where she’d eaten thirds of everything while everyone else was still serving themselves firsts.
    After dessert, Angie had insisted on checking out Laura’s room. Laura had opened her mouth to protest, but Angie was already gone, racing down the hall.
    When Laura finally caught up with her, Angie was already rifling through her things.
    “Wow, you’ve got an awful lot of books, you know that? Are you, like, some kind of professor