Free Just Plain Al: The Al Series, Book Five by Constance C. Greene Page B

pinched it to illustrate how bad they smelled. “They started throwing rocks at me. Then they lit a fire.” I felt the back of my nose getting scratchy and knew I was going to cry.
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, and fled to the bathroom. Al pulls that one on me all the time. Now it was my turn.
    When I came back, Al hadn’t moved.
    â€œKnow something?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œYour grandfather asked my mother out.”
    I started laughing.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Al’s face got red.
    â€œNothing. It’s just that it was such a drastic subject change.” I couldn’t stop laughing. Al’s face got redder.
    When I got hold of myself, I said, “You’re kidding!”
    Al drew herself up haughtily.
    â€œWhy would I kid you about something as serious as that?” she demanded. “And why do you find it so impossible that your grandfather would ask my mother to go to the ballet? My mother has men ask her to go all sorts of places. She never lacks for dates, as you well know.”
    â€œCome off it, Al,” I said. “I think my grandfather showed very good taste asking your mother out. It’s just that I’m surprised. Is she going?”
    â€œShe thinks your grandfather’s a charming man. She told me she’s seldom met a more charming man. Of course she’s going. She loves the ballet.”
    â€œHow about Stan?” I couldn’t resist asking.
    â€œOh, well,” Al waved her hands in the air, “Stan’s still in Europe. Anyway, they’re just good friends.”
    I almost reminded Al that she said her mother might marry Stan and they’d move to a mansion in the suburbs. But I didn’t. No sense in rocking the boat.
    â€œI think that’s cool,” I told her. “Your mother and my grandfather going on a date. Maybe we could go along as chaperones.”
    â€œTwo people of their age hardly need chaperones,” Al said, in an icy tone.
    â€œHey, I was only kidding,” I said.
    â€œHow old is your grandfather, anyway?”
    â€œSixty-six. How old’s your mother?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Either forty-four or forty-five. Sometimes she forgets what year she was born.” Al looked at the ceiling, doing a little arithmetic in her head. “He’s old enough to be her father,” she said.
    â€œSure. He’s my mother’s father, and she’s forty-one.”
    Al thought that one over and found nothing there to quibble about. She got up, pulled herself together, and made for the door.
    â€œGotta split now,” she announced. “I have to write a letter.”
    â€œTo Brian?”
    â€œNo, to your mother. To thank her for the super party. See you.”
    I could hardly wait for my mother to come home to tell her about Al’s mother and Grandfather. I was brat-sitting, carrying shooters of Coke to Teddy as he lay swilling them down on his bed of pain.
    â€œI’m thirsty!” he bellowed for about the twentieth time. And although it was the middle of the day, I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower, hard, so I couldn’t hear Teddy or anyone else, and took a long, hot shower to cool myself off.

chapter 16
    â€œDo you realize,” Al spoke deliberately, pronouncing each word with great solemnity, “that when Joan of Arc was little more than our age, she was leading the armies of France against the English and raising the siege of Orléans?” I felt her giving me a piercer and thought, Oh, boy, it’s going to be one of those days.
    Al was all wound up. We were on our way to meet Polly. The three of us planned one last blast before school started the next day.
    â€œI’ve decided I lead a totally useless life. I mean, what do I do to help mankind?”
    I knew Al didn’t expect an answer from me. Which was a good thing.
    â€œYou lead a totally useless life, too,” she told me.
    That was