Read Brett McCarthy for Free Online Page B

turn to look puzzled. Diane and I talked all the time, but frankly, I couldn’t recall hearing any important family news recently.
    “What I’m going to say doesn’t go beyond this…garage,” Nonna continued, her eyes briefly scanning the mausoleum of old toys, bicycle parts, and cast-off windows that filled every corner of the building.
    “It looks like Larry Pelletier is leaving Marie.”
    For a moment I thought I hadn’t heard correctly. I felt disoriented, the way you feel when you walk into a quiet room and suddenly people jump out from behind the curtains shouting, “Surprise!”
    Disoriented:
to lose one’s sense of time, place, or identity.
    Mr. Pelletier leaving Mrs. Pelletier? After all the work they’d done on that house? After two kids? They were both
old
…at least in their forties, like my parents…what was the point? Nonna had to be wrong.
    “No way,” I replied. “Diane would have told me.”
    “Maybe she doesn’t know yet,” Nonna replied. “Marie told your mother this afternoon. Brett, you know I hate gossip. But I think knowing might help you understand why Diane’s mother is overreacting.”
    I didn’t know what to say. My head buzzed, and more than anything I needed to talk to Diane, right then. But we were banned. That’s when I remembered Instant Messenger.
    “Nonna, I think I need to get started on my homework,” I said. She looked at me, surprised.
    “Well, okay,” she laughed. “I guess we’re done with that subject. Or do you just want to get out of here?”
    I bent over Nonna, seated on her plastic throne, wrapped my arms around her bird-bone shoulders, and squeezed. She smelled like fresh laundry detergent.
    “Thank you,” I whispered. For not hating me for calling the Levesques, I thought. For not keeping secrets from me. She patted the top of my head with her incredibly wrinkly hands.
    “You know,” she said, “you still haven’t told me what you think of our Potato Bazooka.”

bal•lis•tic
    Diane didn’t go online until that evening. At that point Dad was home too, and the three of us were in our usual spots in the kitchen: Dad sorting mail and getting interested in the evening paper, Mom doing something with dinner, me at the computer. I had pretended to do homework for more than an hour, Sockrgurl waiting impatiently for 2Di4 to sign on.
    Just when I began to suspect that Mrs. Pelletier might have also imposed a computer ban, “hey!” appeared on the screen. Diane was on.
    Sockrgurl: whazzup?
    2Di4: mom’s ballistic.
    Ballistic:
moving like a projectile or rocket in flight.
Stratospherically angry.
    Sockrgurl: i thought merrill snitched but mom said mrs. l called?
    2Di4: yup. she’s a client. mom’s totally embarrassed. made me drive w/her 2 l’s. F2F apology.
    Sockrgurl: OMG what happened?!?
    2Di4: it was ok. as j a says, mrs. l is really really nice. i think she felt sorry 4 me ’cuz mom was way over the top, sucking up to the l’s. etc. mrs. l invited mom to have a glass of wine & talk upholstery.
    Sockrgurl: so?
    2Di4: i hung w/bob while they had wine.
    I stared at my screen. No way.
    Sockrgurl: r u kidding?
    2Di4: he’s wicked cool. he had some friends over & we played foosball in the basement. they have a totally awesome house.
    I was stunned. My best friend had just spent the afternoon with the hottest guy in Mescataqua, possibly in all of Maine. The worst, most embarrassing punishment in the world had somehow turned into a huge step up the social ladder.
    Sockrgurl: wow. amazing.
    2Di4: j a won’t believe it.
    I felt the back of my neck stiffen. Diane seemed to have forgotten that “j a” had caused all this trouble to begin with. Even if she, Diane, had just taken the miraculous step of having a conversation with the godlike Bob Levesque, entering his home and touching his foosball table, she was still banned from the phone and forbidden to see me. Her best friend.
    Sockrgurl: who sez we r talking 2 j a??
    2Di4: u rn’t still