I hope Mom and Dad like their gifts. I had a hard time figuring out what to get them. Finally, I got Dad a sweater and Mom a book about gardening. I saw that she’d circled an ad for it in one of our local papers about a month ago, so I hope she really wanted it and that she’s not disappointed. I don’t want her to think that I don’t care about her.
I had a hard time choosing something for Meg, too. I mean, Meg always has a wish list a mile long, but I still couldn’t decide what to get her. Finally, I got her a DVD set of the second Twilight movie with outtakes and interviews and stuff. It’s one of her favorite movies. It was kind of expensive but that’s okay. I’ve been saving my allowance. I hope her mother doesn’t also get it for her. Well, I kept the receipt, so I could always return it and get her something else.
Last night before dinner I went with Dad to find the “perfect tree.” He loves searching for the tree. We got a nice fat one at a tree lot in town and it’s out in the backyard. I think the man who sold it to us said it was a Scotch pine. We’ll be putting it up in the living room tomorrow and decorating it like we always do. Mom will be sure I get to hang my favorite ornament on the tree, that pink one that once belonged to my grandmother. I’m not excited about it at all, though. Maybe it’s just because I’m growing up. I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t believed in Santa Claus for a few years. (Neither has Meg, but we keep quiet about it for Petey’s sake.) Maybe Christmas really is just a holiday for little kids. Maybe Mom and Dad pretend excitement around Christmastime just for my benefit. Maybe I should tell them they don’t have to pretend anymore. I don’t want them wasting their time for my sake.
Talk about wasting time! That’s what I’m still doing. Good-bye, this time for real.
Your friend, Rosie
10
M eg didn’t really mind picking Petey up from camp every day. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do at three-thirty in the afternoon. Sometimes she walked to the church, but today she had ridden her bike. For some reason she thought more clearly when she was riding than she did when she was walking. And today she had something important to think about.
That morning, before she had left for work, Meg’s mother had told her that Mrs. Patterson had demanded Meg not talk to Rosie. This news had made Meg feel angry and also a little bit sad. What did Mrs. Patterson think she was going to say to Rosie? What did she think she was going to do? Punch her in the nose?
Well, she supposed she had no right to be angry. She knew she had “blown her credibility” with the Pattersons. She had read that term recently in an article in Time magazine about some disgraced politician. Her dentist never had fun magazines, just serious stuff. In Meg’s opinion, Bloomberg Businessweek did not help calm your nerves when you were waiting for someone basically to drill a hole in your head.
Meg turned the bike smoothly onto Main Street. The bike was secondhand; she and her mother had gotten it at a yard sale two summers before for twenty dollars. Her father, for once actually keeping his promise, had fixed it up enough so that it rode pretty well. And the brakes were in good shape, which was important. Meg just wished it looked a little newer than it did. And that it wasn’t a weird shade of green, kind of like pea soup, which was good to eat but not so much to look at. But she didn’t care enough about the bike’s appearance to bother with painting it, and besides, if she was lucky she would find a newer model at another yard sale this summer.
Meg continued to ride through downtown on the sidewalk. Though technically you were supposed to ride a bike in the street, lots of people in Yorktide ignored that law, and as far as Meg knew, nobody had ever gotten arrested or fined. Anyway, she was careful not to go too fast and to watch out for old people or anyone on crutches or some
I had a hard time choosing something for Meg, too. I mean, Meg always has a wish list a mile long, but I still couldn’t decide what to get her. Finally, I got her a DVD set of the second Twilight movie with outtakes and interviews and stuff. It’s one of her favorite movies. It was kind of expensive but that’s okay. I’ve been saving my allowance. I hope her mother doesn’t also get it for her. Well, I kept the receipt, so I could always return it and get her something else.
Last night before dinner I went with Dad to find the “perfect tree.” He loves searching for the tree. We got a nice fat one at a tree lot in town and it’s out in the backyard. I think the man who sold it to us said it was a Scotch pine. We’ll be putting it up in the living room tomorrow and decorating it like we always do. Mom will be sure I get to hang my favorite ornament on the tree, that pink one that once belonged to my grandmother. I’m not excited about it at all, though. Maybe it’s just because I’m growing up. I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t believed in Santa Claus for a few years. (Neither has Meg, but we keep quiet about it for Petey’s sake.) Maybe Christmas really is just a holiday for little kids. Maybe Mom and Dad pretend excitement around Christmastime just for my benefit. Maybe I should tell them they don’t have to pretend anymore. I don’t want them wasting their time for my sake.
Talk about wasting time! That’s what I’m still doing. Good-bye, this time for real.
Your friend, Rosie
10
M eg didn’t really mind picking Petey up from camp every day. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do at three-thirty in the afternoon. Sometimes she walked to the church, but today she had ridden her bike. For some reason she thought more clearly when she was riding than she did when she was walking. And today she had something important to think about.
That morning, before she had left for work, Meg’s mother had told her that Mrs. Patterson had demanded Meg not talk to Rosie. This news had made Meg feel angry and also a little bit sad. What did Mrs. Patterson think she was going to say to Rosie? What did she think she was going to do? Punch her in the nose?
Well, she supposed she had no right to be angry. She knew she had “blown her credibility” with the Pattersons. She had read that term recently in an article in Time magazine about some disgraced politician. Her dentist never had fun magazines, just serious stuff. In Meg’s opinion, Bloomberg Businessweek did not help calm your nerves when you were waiting for someone basically to drill a hole in your head.
Meg turned the bike smoothly onto Main Street. The bike was secondhand; she and her mother had gotten it at a yard sale two summers before for twenty dollars. Her father, for once actually keeping his promise, had fixed it up enough so that it rode pretty well. And the brakes were in good shape, which was important. Meg just wished it looked a little newer than it did. And that it wasn’t a weird shade of green, kind of like pea soup, which was good to eat but not so much to look at. But she didn’t care enough about the bike’s appearance to bother with painting it, and besides, if she was lucky she would find a newer model at another yard sale this summer.
Meg continued to ride through downtown on the sidewalk. Though technically you were supposed to ride a bike in the street, lots of people in Yorktide ignored that law, and as far as Meg knew, nobody had ever gotten arrested or fined. Anyway, she was careful not to go too fast and to watch out for old people or anyone on crutches or some
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