Also Known as Elvis Read Online Free Page A

supposed to be my line.
    â€œSo what’s going on, Elvis?” she asks. “You’re usually in here with your friends. Why the solo act today?”
    I tell her about how I have to get a job and I’m having no luck. I think she’s going to say, what do I expect, I’m only thirteen; I’m lucky to have somebody’s grass to cut; I should be hanging out at the pool, driving the girls crazy. But she doesn’t say any of those things.
    Instead, she says, “I’ve been working since I was your age. Babysitting jobs first, which I still do, then helping out my mom in her shop, and then here for the past couple of years. We needed the money as far back as I can remember, and after my dad left, it was all hands on deck. Even my brother, who’s pretty limited in what he can do, he’s had to help out, too.”
    Maybe if I were older or smarter, I’d ask her about her brother ’cause it sounds like something’s wrong with him, but all I can focus on right now is that her dad left her, like mine left me. I want to say something about that, but I don’t have a clue what it should be. So I just say, “So you know what it’s like.”
    â€œYep,” she goes. She leans on her elbows and looks me right in the eyes. This should make me extremely nervous, but for some reason it doesn’t. I feel like I know what she’s going to say next and I can’t believe my luck. If luck is what it is.
    â€œWhy don’t you work here this summer?” she asks me. I was right! “We can really use the help. I’ll speak to my cousin Donny, but I know he’ll say it’s okay. You’ll have to talk to him anyway about hours and pay and all that good stuff, but what do you think? All the fries you can eat. Not a bad deal, right?”
    Not a bad deal at all. All the fries I can eat. Free Dr P’s. And Steffi to look at. If we could just do something about the music, it would be perfect.
    â€œI’ll take it,” I tell her.
    â€œGreat,” she says.
    We eat the rest of the fries before they get too cold, bopping our heads to Patsy Whiny. When she sings the words, “ ‘I don’t know what’s comin’ tomorrow; maybe it’s trouble and sorrow,’ ” I think, Like the T-shirt says, life is good.
    Turns out the T-shirt’s wrong, and it’s Patsy who’s got it right.

Look What the Cat Dragged In
    My mom’s mom, Grandma Roseanne, doesn’t talk a whole lot, and when she does she says things like, “My hip is killing me,” or, “Feels like rain” (even when the sun is shining), or “Look what the cat dragged in.” She’s not exactly what you’d call full of good cheer.
    Anyways, every time we go to visit, I walk in the door and she says, “Look what the cat dragged in.” I never really got it. She lives with my aunt Lindsay and her family and, okay, they’ve got cats—five of them, to be exact—but not one of them has ever dragged me anywhere. Then one day one of them did drag something in. Half a dead mouse. That’s when I understood what the expression means. “Look who I’m as happy to see as half a dead mouse.” At least, that’s what it sounds like every time my grandma says it.
    Thanks, Grandma. I’m happy to see you, too.
    I think of this expression every time the door of the Candy Kitchen opens and somebody I know walks in. It’s not like I think of my friends as half a dead mouse, it’s just that the words are in my head. I never say them out loud, but every time Joe or Bobby or Addie or even my mom walks in the door, there I am thinking the cat dragged them in.
    â€œHey, Skeeze!”
    I look up and there’s Joe slamming open the door, just missing the umbrella stand, arm in arm with Zachary, his new best friend. The two of them are wearing bright-colored high-tops, baggy shorts, and these