Read Home for the Holidays for Free Online Page A

to get a wake-up call from my son, or from you,” Nicky's mother told Frankie.
    “Like I said, I'll talk to his father,” Nicky's father said. “I'll get it straightened out.”
    Nicky wondered if he would. He knew he and Tommy were in the right, and Dirk Van Allen was in the wrong. But he remembered the way his father had kissed up to Mr. Van Allen at the dinner party. Like Frankie said, it was business.
    The next morning, Tommy's jaw was sore and his chin was bruised, but he wanted to go to the skate park just the same.
    “I'm fine, Mrs. Borelli,” he said.
    “I don't know,” Nicky's mother said.
    “He doesn't eat like he's sick,” Grandma Tutti said. “Five pieces of bacon! Plus pancakes.”
    “I'll keep an eye on him, Mom,” Nicky said. “Can't we just go for an hour?”
    “As long as you both wear gloves and the wrist guards.And the helmets. And stay warm. And speak to your mother.”
    “Yes!” Nicky said. “I'll ask Clarence if he can drive us.”
    “And you try your mother again now,” Nicky's mother said.
    There was no answer at the Caporelli home. Nicky said, “Is that weird?”
    “No,” Tommy said. “No one ever answers the phone there. It could be a bill collector or something. So, can we go, or what?”
    The skate park was mostly covered, so the ramps and half-pipes were clear of snow. Nicky started Tommy out on the flats and gradually moved him to the slopes. Tommy was a natural skater. Within an hour, he was riding like a pro.
    “You should take it easy,” Nicky said. “Doesn't your chin hurt?”
    Tommy reached up and poked his bandage. “I forgot about it.”
    “Well, you wouldn't want to fall on it, right?”
    “Who's gonna fall?” Tommy said, and shot down a ramp.
    Around three o'clock the boys bumped into two of Dirk Van Allen's friends—the ones who had stood by and watched Dirk pelt Tommy with the rock.
    “Nice bandage,” one of them said. “Did you fall off your board?”
    “Very funny,” Tommy said. “Come over here and I'll give
you
something to put a bandage on, too.”
    “Forget it, garlic breath,” the boy said. “We don't play with pepperonis like you.”
    The two boys skated away. Tommy started after them. Nicky grabbed his arm.
    “Forget it, Tommy,” he said.
    “Forget it? Did you hear what they called me?” Tommy said. “Back home, guys get killed for saying stuff like that.”
    “Down here, they get laughed at—or just ignored,” Nicky said. “Let's do the half-pipes again.”
    Grandma Tutti was cooking when the boys got home that afternoon. Marian Galloway was there, along with Mrs. Feingold and Mrs. Carpenter. Grandma Tutti was rolling out pasta dough and cutting wide strips of lasagna when Nicky and Tommy went into the kitchen for a glass of juice.
    “How wide should the noodles be?” Mrs. Feingold asked. “One inch? Two inches?”
    “Inches!” Grandma Tutti laughed. “Who needs inches? You make it just wide enough like this. But not too wide!”
    “And how long do you cook the noodles?” Mrs. Carpenter asked.
    “Until they're done,” Grandma Tutti said. “But don't overcook them.”
    “More wine, Doris?” Marian Galloway said.
    Upstairs, Tommy said, “I don't think those friends of your mother's are going to learn very much.”
    “They should just be quiet and watch,” Nicky said.“That's what I did, and I already know how to cook all kinds of things.”
    “You like that? Cooking?”
    “Sure,” Nicky said. “Why not? I like
eating.”
    “I guess,” Tommy said. “Not for nothing, but it's kind of girly.”
    “Says who?” Nicky said. “Almost all the famous chefs are guys. Like, uh, like Molto Mario, and … Chef Boy-ardee!”
    “You're weird.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Nicky said. “Listen, it's probably better if we don't say anything about those guys at the skate park today, you know? I don't want to get my uncle Frankie riled up.”
    “I understand,” Tommy said. “If he heard that kid called me garlic breath,