Chapter One
We’re at a Chinese restaurant, the Golden City, or the Cold and Gritty, as Rob calls it. He pulls back the corners of his eyes and orders in a bad Chinese accent. My mother laughs nervously, tossing me a please-don’t-start-anything look when Rob isn’t watching. I’d like to tip his tea into his lap and apologize to the crowded room for him being such a racist prick, but it’s the night before Mom goes up north to cook in the logging camp, and I don’t want to ruin it for her.
Margaret cringes and stares at her plate, even though there’s nothing on it yet. The last time she came out with us for supper was for Mom’s birthday. We went to a really expensive French restaurant. The food was amazing. Just as Rob was finishing his chocolate mousse, he bellowed, “Waiter! Waiter! There’s a cockroach on my plate!” He’d actually brought one with him! From home! He argued with the manager for almost half an hour before the manager finally agreed to give us the entire meal for free.
Margaret slept over that night. She told me she was very sorry, and yes, she was and would always be my best friend, but she just couldn’t bear going out to dinner with us ever again, not so long as Mom was dating Rob the Slob.
“He lied! It was so embarrassing. He is so gross, Izzy,” she said in the middle of the night as she stuffed a wad of marshmallows into her mouth. Talk about gross.
“He’s not so bad.” Honestly, I hate the ground he walks on, I hate the air he breathes, I wish him dead on a regular basis, but all the same, I was pissed off that Margaret was acting all high-and-mighty about it.
She only agreed to come this time because Mom begged her, and as much as Margaret can’t stand Rob, she adores my mother.
Rob is so bad with chopsticks you have to watch, like how you just can’t look away from a car crash. I don’t know why the idiot doesn’t use a fork. Margaret isn’t saying much; she never does around Rob because he calls her Margarine. I told him not to. I told him she’s sensitive about being fat. He says it has nothing to do with how fat she is; it just rhymes with her name. I was going to tell the genius that margarine doesn’t actually rhyme with Margaret, but my mother gave me another one of those looks, so I kept my trap shut.
Just when I’m thinking the night cannot get worse, it does. Cody Dillon, man of my dreams, walks into the restaurant with two gorgeous girls I think I recognize from school. I slide down in my seat and hiss at Margaret to do the same. They walk by.
“Lose something, Margarine?” Rob says as we sit back up. Margaret pushes her plate away, her cheeks flushed.
“Shut up, Rob!” I throw a fortune cookie at him. He catches it, cracks it open and pretends to read the fortune.
“Ancient Chinese proverb say bad rittle girls get in big trouble.” Rob sits back, folds his arms and nods at my mother. “You gonna let her talk to me like that?”
“Margaret doesn’t like it when you call her that, Rob. He’s sorry, Margaret, okay?”
Margaret barely nods her head. Mom winks at her.
“And as for you, Izzy, you and Rob are going to have to figure out a way of being nice to each other while I’m gone. Six months is a long time. You’d both be doing yourselves a favor if you started off on the right foot.”
Six months stuck with Rob the Slob. I’d rethink my alternatives, but there are none.
“How about you two walk home?” Mom says. “It’s a nice night out.”
“Yeah, Margarine could use the walk,” Rob adds, and laughs when I fake a lunge at him.
Margaret can’t get out of there fast enough. I take my time. Maybe Cody Dillon will look up and notice me, but why would he when he’s got two supermodels glued to him?
“Did you see Cody Dillon come in?” I ask Margaret once we’re outside.
“Who?”
Margaret is a little slow sometimes.
“Cody Dillon! He dropped out last year?”
“And that makes him cool?”
No, his wolf blue eyes,
We’re at a Chinese restaurant, the Golden City, or the Cold and Gritty, as Rob calls it. He pulls back the corners of his eyes and orders in a bad Chinese accent. My mother laughs nervously, tossing me a please-don’t-start-anything look when Rob isn’t watching. I’d like to tip his tea into his lap and apologize to the crowded room for him being such a racist prick, but it’s the night before Mom goes up north to cook in the logging camp, and I don’t want to ruin it for her.
Margaret cringes and stares at her plate, even though there’s nothing on it yet. The last time she came out with us for supper was for Mom’s birthday. We went to a really expensive French restaurant. The food was amazing. Just as Rob was finishing his chocolate mousse, he bellowed, “Waiter! Waiter! There’s a cockroach on my plate!” He’d actually brought one with him! From home! He argued with the manager for almost half an hour before the manager finally agreed to give us the entire meal for free.
Margaret slept over that night. She told me she was very sorry, and yes, she was and would always be my best friend, but she just couldn’t bear going out to dinner with us ever again, not so long as Mom was dating Rob the Slob.
“He lied! It was so embarrassing. He is so gross, Izzy,” she said in the middle of the night as she stuffed a wad of marshmallows into her mouth. Talk about gross.
“He’s not so bad.” Honestly, I hate the ground he walks on, I hate the air he breathes, I wish him dead on a regular basis, but all the same, I was pissed off that Margaret was acting all high-and-mighty about it.
She only agreed to come this time because Mom begged her, and as much as Margaret can’t stand Rob, she adores my mother.
Rob is so bad with chopsticks you have to watch, like how you just can’t look away from a car crash. I don’t know why the idiot doesn’t use a fork. Margaret isn’t saying much; she never does around Rob because he calls her Margarine. I told him not to. I told him she’s sensitive about being fat. He says it has nothing to do with how fat she is; it just rhymes with her name. I was going to tell the genius that margarine doesn’t actually rhyme with Margaret, but my mother gave me another one of those looks, so I kept my trap shut.
Just when I’m thinking the night cannot get worse, it does. Cody Dillon, man of my dreams, walks into the restaurant with two gorgeous girls I think I recognize from school. I slide down in my seat and hiss at Margaret to do the same. They walk by.
“Lose something, Margarine?” Rob says as we sit back up. Margaret pushes her plate away, her cheeks flushed.
“Shut up, Rob!” I throw a fortune cookie at him. He catches it, cracks it open and pretends to read the fortune.
“Ancient Chinese proverb say bad rittle girls get in big trouble.” Rob sits back, folds his arms and nods at my mother. “You gonna let her talk to me like that?”
“Margaret doesn’t like it when you call her that, Rob. He’s sorry, Margaret, okay?”
Margaret barely nods her head. Mom winks at her.
“And as for you, Izzy, you and Rob are going to have to figure out a way of being nice to each other while I’m gone. Six months is a long time. You’d both be doing yourselves a favor if you started off on the right foot.”
Six months stuck with Rob the Slob. I’d rethink my alternatives, but there are none.
“How about you two walk home?” Mom says. “It’s a nice night out.”
“Yeah, Margarine could use the walk,” Rob adds, and laughs when I fake a lunge at him.
Margaret can’t get out of there fast enough. I take my time. Maybe Cody Dillon will look up and notice me, but why would he when he’s got two supermodels glued to him?
“Did you see Cody Dillon come in?” I ask Margaret once we’re outside.
“Who?”
Margaret is a little slow sometimes.
“Cody Dillon! He dropped out last year?”
“And that makes him cool?”
No, his wolf blue eyes,
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