Untethered Read Online Free

chair.
    “He said he’d come see you two off. But I don’t know where he is. You’d think he could have stomached another night in this house, but —” Mom makes a mewing sound from behind her Kleenex. People say she’s attractive, and she is. She’s willowy and graceful with deep gray eyes and high cheekbones. Except sometimes I don’t get it, because people also say we look alike. And what I see when I look in the mirror is far from pretty: putty brown hair, a pointed chin, a too skinny frame. Plus, both Mom and I get allergic reactions to all sorts of things as well as bouts of eczema — all potential for serious hideousness. Well, at least on my end. Mom’s learned to manage it. Mostly.
    “You two better get going,” she says, shoving the Kleenex back into her pocket and suddenly clapping her hands in fake enthusiasm. “Your first day of high school, Sam! Aren’t you excited?”
    Of course Sam is thrilled. Not.
    She gives us our lunch money and sends us outside.
    I push open the back gate and stand looking at the red-brick house next door. Cassie’s window is open, so I call out, “Cass!”
    Her face appears behind the screen. “One minute.”
    That means ten.
    Sam and I walk to the front and hang out on the sidewalk. I scratch a patch of dry skin and check my watch. That’s when Dad pulls up and parks in the driveway like he still has the right. He gets out and comes toward us. He looks like hell — his dark hair is mussed up, there are dark circles under his hazel eyes and his cleft chin is all stubbly. He did miss his coffee; he’s usually good-looking. Really good-looking. So much so that if I didn’t have his mouth and his weird overlapping second toe (I know, so gross, and Sam’s got it too), I’d suggest a paternity test.
    “Want a ride to school?” He’s all breezy, half-smiling.
    Neither Sam nor I say anything.
    “I can take you,” he insists. When I shake my head no, he coughs and nods. “I just wanted to wish you both luck on your first day.”
    “Jeez, strange,” I say. “I don’t feel so lucky right now, do you Sam?”
    Sam looks down at the sidewalk and chews on his thumb.
    “Fine, I get it.” Dad runs his hands down his face then rubs them roughly against his cheeks. “And I love you two.”
    He walks up the driveway and goes to the back of the house. Sam and I look at each other, and something in my chest widens. Sam looks pale and scared. I want to hug him, tell him it’ll be okay. But I don’t know that it will. And hugging is something we just ... don’t do. I muss up his hair instead.
    Cassie comes through the door, wearing a purple dress that shows off how much she’s changed over the summer. I hear Sam suck in his breath.
    “Your dad’s here?” Cassie nods to Dad’s car as we start walking.
    “To wish us luck,” Sam says.
    I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Lots of luck.”
    Sam pulls his iPod out of his pocket, and falls behind, keeping out of the girl-talk.
    “Well, your parents aren’t the only losers,” Cassie says. “God, I hate mine. I had to shake them awake for work. Again. I wouldn’t mind so much if they just woke up. But they’re always pulling the covers over their heads and whining. I’m always playing babysitter.”
    I wrap my arm around her waist and squeeze. “They’re adults, Cass. They shouldn’t need a babysitter. They’re just lucky they’ve got you around. ”
    Her parents have a habit of downing martini after martini practically every night. Which means Cassie ends up having to wake them in the morning, because apparently their alarm clock can wake the dead but not the hung-over.
    We shuffle on without saying anything for a while. It’s only 7:00 in the morning, but it’s already hot and way too humid. A trickle of sweat shimmies its way between my shoulder blades and for a second it soothes my eczema. It’s just wrong, starting school before the end of summer. Wisconsin gives you only so many decent days in the year as it is.