Read Girls Don't Fly for Free Online

“Well, I can’t help it if I’m smarter than he is.”
    “No, I guess not.”
    She blows her nose and starts crying again.
    “Are you okay?” I ask.
    “No.”
    “Do you want to come home for a while?”
    “I want to come home, home.”
    “Home, home? But you aren’t done with school.” I’m talking to myself as much as to Melyssa. I’ll be camping in the yard if she comes.
    She says, “I can’t go to school like this. I’m a mess.”
    “You’re going to drop out? You’ll lose your scholarship.”
    “I’m going to get a medical extension.”
    I’m trying to think about her, or at least sound like it. “Until when?”
    “Until I feel better,” she says. “Which is most likely never. I can’t believe he left.”
    I’d like to tell her not to worry, but I can’t.
    The boys are staring at me when I hang up the phone.
    “So who’s going?” asks Andrew.
    “Going where?”
    “With the pirates,” says Brett with disgust.
    “Oh, I have to tell you tomorrow night. It’s a surprise.”
    “Aw,” says Carson.
    “I hate surprises,” says Andrew.
    I nod my head. “You should all go play outside.”
    As bad as things are in Deadendia, I think they are about to get a whole lot worse.

8
     
    Molting:
     
    Dropping old feathers to get new ones.
     
     
    On Monday nights I leave the kids with Dad and work at the Lucky Penny. That’s one of the nights Erik works too. Howard puts Erik at the front counter and me in the back, making shakes. It’s not that Howard’s being considerate or anything. It’s just that Callie told him I might throw up in the ice cream if I had to stand next to Erik.
    Making shakes is not brain surgery, but you have to keep your wits about you. For one thing, if you don’t hold the cold steel cup you blend with just right, you send ice cream flying. For another thing, you have to get a feel for how the ice cream blends with what you’re mixing so the shake doesn’t come out runny. If the shake doesn’t stand up out of the cup when I’m done, I’ll pay for it myself and start over. The last thing is that you have to clean the blender blades as you go. You can’t just stick the blade with grasshopper shake all over it into a pumpkin shake. You have to blend the blades in water until they’re completely clean, which is time-consuming and drives Erik nuts, because patience isn’t exactly his best thing.
    So when the entire population of Salty Breeze Retirement Home comes in and pretty much orders enough ice cream to plug every artery they have left, and then Erik comes back with a shake in his hand and says, “They wanted Chocolate Banana Caramel, not Peanut Butter Chocolate,” I’m going about eighty in a twenty-five, if you know what I mean.
    “Where’s the order?” I say.
    Erik rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. They said they didn’t order this.”
    “Show me the order,” I say. I know he has the receipt on a pin out front, and when there’s a mistake that costs money we’re supposed to find out whose fault it is.
    “I don’t have time,” Erik says. “Just do it over.”
    A truckload of adrenaline races to my head. “Can I see the order?” I ask.
    “I know you’re upset,” he says, laying it on thick. Like I’m one of those old women out there who just lost her teeth in a sundae.
    I’ve covered for Erik since I started working here. He messes up about once a week because he’s so good with customers he forgets to be good with typing in the right code. But I’m not covering for a patronizing me-dumper.
    I put the shake I’m making down on the counter. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at me. I walk out to the cash register and pull the receipt off the pin. I look at the order. The prehistoric woman who ordered the shake, who obviously thinks she’s caught me at something, stares me down.
    I walk back to Erik and show him the receipt. “You put in the code for Peanut Butter Chocolate. I’ll make another one, but I’m not paying