Eleven and Holding by Mary Penney

you’re single. I’m supposed to find out if you are. And if you like country music.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    M om and Jack were crashed out together on the couch when I got home. Mom’s work files were scattered over the coffee table, which was also covered in baby snacks, tiny army tanks, and sticky-finger marks. Jack was lying on top of my mom, like he’d won the last round. She obviously had been trying to work before Jack and his army had invaded. I pulled the glasses off her nose and folded them carefully. I studied her face a moment. I hated how sometimes I loved my mother so much it made my heart just ache, and other times the sight of her alone was enough to make me want to slam every door in the house.
    I tried to clean up the table just a bit, so she wouldn’t wake to such a mess. I scooped up the soggy pieces of cookie, and a banana half that had beenmutilated. Jack was teething again and was gumming on anything he could get his hands on these days.
    I closed her laptop and stacked her files together. I wasn’t ever supposed to look at her work papers. It was a major rule in our house. It was in case I knew any of her delinquent kids. I’d asked her the other day if she knew a kid named Switch, and she said she didn’t. I’d gotten the feeling it was the real truth and not the I-can’t-tell-you-the-truth-for-your-own-good truth. Mostly the kids I knew were so tired from sports and stuff we didn’t have time to make any trouble. Well, except for me tomorrow. Lying to just about everyone and taking a trip out of town without permission put me right up there with all of Constant’s juvies.
    Jack snorted in his sleep, startling me. My hand knocked a plastic cup of grape juice over onto a stack of papers. Dang! I looked around for a napkin or something to wipe with, but there wasn’t anything. I picked up the papers and ran into the kitchen, trying to balance the pool of juice before it spilled onto the floor. Grabbing a paper towel, I did my best to blot the juice off the top sheet. She was going to kill me! It was something from the Everest County Juvenile Court, and it looked important. It had a bunch of kids’ names on it—with “Last Known Address” and “Date Fled Jurisdiction.” I wasn’t really reading it; Iwas mopping it. But the names were beaming up into my brain, whether I wanted them to or not.
    None of them rang a bell with me, anyhow. But I wondered where all these kids had fled to. Jillian Lee Scoates . . . Where are you? Terrance Rose Jacobs — Geez, what kind of parents names a guy Terrance Rose ?
    â€œOh! You’re home.” Mom padded in barefoot behind me, scaring my wits right into the next state. She looked over my shoulder. “What are you doing with my files?” she asked, reaching for them.
    â€œOh, uh, I was just trying to clean up the coffee table for you, and I spilled some juice on them. Sorry!”
    She took the towel out of my hand and looked down at the top sheet and then at me. “It’s okay, honey, but you didn’t—”
    â€œI didn’t read it, swear!” I said guiltily.
    â€œI trust that if you did see anything by accident, you’ll keep it confidential, right?” She sorted through the soggy stack, assessing the damage.
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know—”
    She covered a yawn. “S’cuse me! Oh, Twee called a while ago. I asked her what time she was coming over to take care of Jack. She said six thirty. I told her that seemed really early and hardly necessary. She asked me if I’d talked to you tonight. What’s up?”
    I quickly collected the dirty dishes from the counter and turned on the hot water full blast. So it was nice and loud.
    â€œI’m going out with the Green Angels in the morning. Real, real early. I need to be at the Elks Club parking lot by seven,” I said. Fortunately, I’d had a Green Angel in my history class last