Free Rules for Life by Darlene Ryan Page B

kissed me. His lips were warm and my knees went all floppy like a Raggedy Anne doll. I wasn’t cold at all. “I really gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He gave me one more quick kiss, took the stairs in two giant steps and loped across the lawn to his car.
    I watched him drive away, but I didn’t go in. I leaned against the railing and looked up at the ink-black sky. It seemed to go up forever. I tried to pick out the Big Dipper. The stars were so bright. The light had made it all this way, but the warmth had been lost millions of miles ago.
    An image of old Mr. Jamer, with his dry-clean–only hair, getting horizontal with Mrs. Patterson popped into my mind and I couldn’t help laughing.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Dad said from behind me.
    I started, then turned halfway around. “Just something Rafe said.”
    Dad came out onto the steps. We watched the sky in silence for a few minutes. “I don’t see you much these days it seems,” he said, so quietly that for a moment I thought maybe I’d imagined the words.
    I didn’t even look at him. Was he waiting for me to get all teary? Waiting for us to hug, wipe our eyes and then go inside for cookies and milk? My throat was suddenly tight.
    I let my eyes drift sideways. Dad was motionless, looking out at the night sky. Everything between us was different.
    â€œI’ve been busy,” I mumbled.
    Then I turned and went inside.

18
    Lisa and I were hanging over the second-floor stairwell by the end of the breezeway to the gym. It was a good place to watch people—or to hang out if you wanted people to watch you.
    Lisa liked to be noticed. She leaned over the railing as far as she could and rocked back and forth so her butt was in the air. Every guy going past on the stairs looked—which was why she was doing it. “You want to check out Second Coming next weekend?” she asked, smiling down at a skinny guy with shaggy blue and blond hair.
    â€œAren’t you going to your dad’s?” I said.
    â€œNope. He has to go away on business, and Haviland and the small ones are going too.” Lisa hung over the railing until her chest was on her folded arms. “You think he’s cute?” she said.
    â€œYour dad?”
    She screwed up her face at me. “No, stupid. Him.” She pointed down the breezeway.
    â€œNick Dufferin?”
    â€œYeah. He’s in the drama club.” She sighed and gave me a moony smile. “I like the sensitive artist type.”
    â€œWhat about Zach?” I asked, leaning beside her.
    â€œOh please.” Lisa rolled her eyes. “That’s over.” After a couple of minutes she said, “So, how’s life with the wicked stepmother?”
    I glanced at her, then looked away. “She has all these weird cravings. Like right now it’s sour stuff. Either she’s eating one of those big pickles from Rye’s or she’s sucking on those purple sourballs you get from the gumball machine outside the Cineplex. I think my dad’s put twenty bucks’ worth of change in that thing.”
    Lisa snorted with laughter. “Haviland’s thing was fried clams,” she said. “In the middle of the night.”
    She tugged at the front of her black sweater. “Why couldn’t we have fathers like Ashley Cooper’s dad. When he turned forty he bought a convertible and had liposuction.” She turned to look at me, resting her chin against her shoulder. “Babies aren’t so bad though, once they get past the puking up on everything stage.”
    â€œOh great,” I muttered.
    â€œNo, really, the little critters can be fun. Like last week, I taught Sammy how to shoot a pea right across the table like a spitball. Dad was pissed but Haviland was in the kitchen laughing.” She picked at something on the arm of her sweater. “It’s not that bad, Iz, honest.”
    â€œSure,” I said.