too. He loves to see them, pet them, and he talks to them, just like me. Mom is a worrier. She worries about germs, safety, and how expensive a pet might be. And she never seems to relax around animals or enjoy petting them like Dad and I do.
The tabby comes closer and circles me, leaning his body against my ankles and legs, then comes back around to my hands for more petting.
“I’d sure like to keep you,” I say to him. “But you look like you already have a home. Still, you should be wearing a collar and a tag with your name and your owner’s phone number on it.” He’s close to me again, purring and content.
The back door to the store creaks open and bangs against the wall, startling the cat and me. “Hey, Jules,” Josh calls, “are you out here collecting strays again?” The cat sprints off across the back parking lot, out of sight.
“Josh!” I say. “You scared him away.”
“Sorry,” he says.
I look past the parking lot, hoping the tabby will come back, but he’s gone. I hope his ear heals okay.
“Mom needs you upstairs,” Josh says. “I’m helping Dad in the store. And Mom says we have to get ready for school tomorrow. I’m exhausted. So much for spring break!”
Josh is right. Spring break hasn’t been a vacation this year. Sometimes, like right now, Josh and I think exactly alike. We have a six-year-old sister, Sophie, too, but Sophie and I rarely think alike. It must be because Josh and I are twins.
“The store’s looking good, isn’t it?” Josh asks.
“I guess so,” I say.
I was excited when Mom and Dad bought the old boarded-up hardware store in Ambler. Theyrenamed it Wrenches & Roses. Mom wants to add a bunch of gardening supplies and gift items to sell.
“Guess so? I know so,” Josh says. “That sign you helped Dad build and paint looks great. The store still needs a lot of fixing up, but it’s coming along.”
Dad and I are handy with tools. Josh, not so much. He prefers to draw. Sophie draws, too. I like to build.
“I’m excited,” Josh adds. “You should be, too.”
“I’m excited about the store,” I say. “I’m just not thrilled with the first day of school tomorrow. Or meeting new kids.”
“It’ll be fine,” Josh says.
“I hope so.” I shrug. “I’ll be right in.”
Josh heads in, and I hear him tromping up the stairs. Our apartment is above the store, and there’s a huge basement below the store full of who knows what. Josh and I tried to explore down there the first day, but it was not on Mom’s to-do list.
I look once more to see if the tabby is coming back. Nope. So I go inside, past the basement door, and head upstairs. Dad says the basement needs a lot of work so it’s strictly “off limits” for now, though he promised we could add a family workshop down there someday, where he could teachsome do-it-yourself workshops about gardening techniques and home repairs for local families. There’s a lot of room down there. And as he always says about everything, “There are so many possibilities.”
Nothing is settled. Not in the basement, not in the store, and especially not in our apartment. There are boxes and packing materials everywhere.
“Jules, wash up and help me set the table,” Mom says.
Sophie is in the living room, stacking empty boxes, open side out, one on top of the other. She makes a game of putting her stuffed animals in the boxes, talking to them as she goes. Poor kid. We need a real animal around here.
“Looking forward to going to school tomorrow?” Mom asks me.
“No, not really,” I say.
I half expect Mom to start in again on her never-ending You’re-in-Seventh-Grade-Now-Julia-So-Be-Sure-to-Stay-Organized-with-Your-Schoolwork speech, but instead she sighs and goes back to making dinner. She can’t think of anything to say and neither can I. If I start telling her how I feel, I won’t be able to stop. Plus, I don’t think she is interested in how I feel.
“Get a good night’s rest, Jules,”
The tabby comes closer and circles me, leaning his body against my ankles and legs, then comes back around to my hands for more petting.
“I’d sure like to keep you,” I say to him. “But you look like you already have a home. Still, you should be wearing a collar and a tag with your name and your owner’s phone number on it.” He’s close to me again, purring and content.
The back door to the store creaks open and bangs against the wall, startling the cat and me. “Hey, Jules,” Josh calls, “are you out here collecting strays again?” The cat sprints off across the back parking lot, out of sight.
“Josh!” I say. “You scared him away.”
“Sorry,” he says.
I look past the parking lot, hoping the tabby will come back, but he’s gone. I hope his ear heals okay.
“Mom needs you upstairs,” Josh says. “I’m helping Dad in the store. And Mom says we have to get ready for school tomorrow. I’m exhausted. So much for spring break!”
Josh is right. Spring break hasn’t been a vacation this year. Sometimes, like right now, Josh and I think exactly alike. We have a six-year-old sister, Sophie, too, but Sophie and I rarely think alike. It must be because Josh and I are twins.
“The store’s looking good, isn’t it?” Josh asks.
“I guess so,” I say.
I was excited when Mom and Dad bought the old boarded-up hardware store in Ambler. Theyrenamed it Wrenches & Roses. Mom wants to add a bunch of gardening supplies and gift items to sell.
“Guess so? I know so,” Josh says. “That sign you helped Dad build and paint looks great. The store still needs a lot of fixing up, but it’s coming along.”
Dad and I are handy with tools. Josh, not so much. He prefers to draw. Sophie draws, too. I like to build.
“I’m excited,” Josh adds. “You should be, too.”
“I’m excited about the store,” I say. “I’m just not thrilled with the first day of school tomorrow. Or meeting new kids.”
“It’ll be fine,” Josh says.
“I hope so.” I shrug. “I’ll be right in.”
Josh heads in, and I hear him tromping up the stairs. Our apartment is above the store, and there’s a huge basement below the store full of who knows what. Josh and I tried to explore down there the first day, but it was not on Mom’s to-do list.
I look once more to see if the tabby is coming back. Nope. So I go inside, past the basement door, and head upstairs. Dad says the basement needs a lot of work so it’s strictly “off limits” for now, though he promised we could add a family workshop down there someday, where he could teachsome do-it-yourself workshops about gardening techniques and home repairs for local families. There’s a lot of room down there. And as he always says about everything, “There are so many possibilities.”
Nothing is settled. Not in the basement, not in the store, and especially not in our apartment. There are boxes and packing materials everywhere.
“Jules, wash up and help me set the table,” Mom says.
Sophie is in the living room, stacking empty boxes, open side out, one on top of the other. She makes a game of putting her stuffed animals in the boxes, talking to them as she goes. Poor kid. We need a real animal around here.
“Looking forward to going to school tomorrow?” Mom asks me.
“No, not really,” I say.
I half expect Mom to start in again on her never-ending You’re-in-Seventh-Grade-Now-Julia-So-Be-Sure-to-Stay-Organized-with-Your-Schoolwork speech, but instead she sighs and goes back to making dinner. She can’t think of anything to say and neither can I. If I start telling her how I feel, I won’t be able to stop. Plus, I don’t think she is interested in how I feel.
“Get a good night’s rest, Jules,”
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