Read The Summer I Learned to Fly for Free Online Page B

answered. “Work is work.”
    “You were at the shop?”
    “Where else would I be?”
    “That’s what I’m asking you.”
    At this point Mom walked over to where I was sitting with my legs dangling off the counter and she pulled me to her, kissing the top of my head.
    “I’m knackered,” she said. She put both hands on my cheeks. “Too tired for word games, Birdie. I’m turning in.”
    She left the room and I sat there, my heart racing. My cheeks, right where she’d touched me, burning. She’s lying .
    I replayed our conversation in my head and realized, as I took it apart piece by piece, that actually, she hadn’t lied atall. That she was, and maybe always had been, the master of word games.
    Work is work. Where else would I be? A game of words.
    This too: His body was all done living .
    I didn’t follow her up the stairs of our tiny house and pound on her door, demanding an explanation. I was pretty sure that was the job of a mother, not a daughter. I decided instead to file this incident away. That I might need it later. That there might come a time when I would want to show her how she hadn’t always been honest with me. How everyone is capable of lies or mistakes or untruths or even clever games. I wasn’t exactly planning or plotting anything, I was merely filing.
    And I was collecting. A small piece of a puzzle.
    That night I went up to bed in a silent house, safe in my role of the girl who doesn’t break the rules, who doesn’t upset the natural order and demand explanations from the adults around her. I slept late and then I went to work. I took out the trash, and I did this over and over again until finally, on Monday, when I went out to the Dumpster with my first garbage bag of the day, I found his note.
    I might have discarded it like another piece of trash if he hadn’t thought to turn the scrap of paper into something eye-catching.
    It was on Swoozie’s bench, facing me just as I came out the back door. The same spot where I’d held Hum and Emmett had fed him Cotswold, where we had talked about silver cars.
    It was a paper bird that I didn’t recognize right away as a crane.
    His namesake.
    I unfolded it carefully, with the uncomfortable feeling of destroying a work of art. I wouldn’t have taken it apart at all if I hadn’t noticed my initials written on its tail.
DRS
    The crane slowly turned into a square of paper, revealing this note, in tiny, perfect writing.
Dear Robin —
I hope that vest got you home safely and that Hum has been a good boy. I’m guessing he has, since I haven’t seen you in your burglar costume lately. If you don’t have to work tomorrow, meet me at Garfield Park at noon .
P.S. What’s the cheese with the red marble in it? Weird but tasty .

a day off
    It was port wine cheddar, and it wasn’t for everyone, but I adored it. Truth be told, it could have spent another day in the case, but I’d taken it out to the alley wondering if Emmett might like it too.
    I called the shop in the morning to tell Mom I wouldn’t be coming in, which felt easier than telling her the news to her face. She might have asked me what my plans for the day involved, and I wasn’t as good a liar as she was.
    Nick answered the phone.
    “The Cheese Shop.”
    “Lizzie Solo, please.”
    “Drew?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s Nick.”
    Of course I knew it was Nick. “Hi.”
    “Where are you, kiddo? I’m feeling some squid ink coming on.”
    “I’m not going to make it in today.”
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    A pause. “Are we okay?”
    A wave of warmth for Nick washed over me. His crooked smile. His sea-green eyes. His messy blond hair. I’d tried being angry with him, tried hating him for loving the girl in the peasant skirt, but I could feel now that it wasn’t sticking.
    I had to give myself credit. Any girl could admire a boy like Nick—crooked, sea-green, messy Nick—but in the end what I liked best about him was his kindness. He was, always, so very kind to me.
    “Of