Read Online Gimme a Call by Sarah Mlynowski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Mlynowski
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there?”
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “It’s my TV. It’s gone too.”
“What TV? The one in the living room?”
“No, the TV in my room.” TV—gone. Bryan—gone.
“When did we get a TV in our room?”
“Forget it.” I shake away the weird Bryan-is-gone twinges. “Not important. What’s important is that we got rid of Bryan.” I glance back at the picture. “A little piece of advice for the notebook? In the future, you should not wear that lipstick with your braces. It looks ridiculous. In fact, you probably shouldn’t wear any lipstick. I’d focus on eyeliner if I were you. Which I am.”
“I thought it looked good,” she squeaks.
“Well, it doesn’t. Sorry, Freshman Me.”
“Don’t call me Freshman Me. It’s confusing. Call me Devi.”
“ That’s confusing,” I tell her. “I’m Devi. Why don’t I call you Devorah and I can be Devi?”
“No way,” she says. “I don’t want to be Devorah. That’s what Mom and Dad call us when they’re mad.”
“Then I’ll be Senior and you can be—”
“Junior?”
“I was going to say Frosh.”
“Frosh,” she repeats. “I like it. I don’t like Senior, though.”
“Seniorita?”
“No.”
“Elder?”
She laughs. “No.”
“Genius?” I ask, smiling. “Oh, I know! I’ll be Ivy.”
“I want to be Ivy too!” she says jealously. “I love the name Ivy!”
“So do I. But we can’t both be Ivy. That’s the whole point. And I called it first.” Technically, I get everything first. And I know everything first. I know everything that is going to happen to her for the next three and a half years.
I know everything that will happen to everyone for the next three and a half years.
Or everything that was supposed to happen. Until I intervened.
Oh. My. God. If I can stop Bryan and me from dating, I can stop other bad things from happening too. I can fix the entire world. I need to think. To brainstorm. I need a list. “Frosh, I need to call you back,” I tell her.
As soon as I hang up, I pull the tattered green notebook out of the drawer, my heart pounding. Frosh’s list doesn’t have to just be about Bryan and my lost retainer. I can tell Frosh all the bad things that have happened in the world since I was a freshman, and she can stop them from taking place. She can fix them. I’m a modern superhero, rushing over to save the day! I’m Future Girl! All I need is a cape.
I flip to the last page of the notebook and try to think of some of the bad stuff that’s gone down in the last three and a half years. I should start with big things. Like wars and famines and hurricanes. And then I’ll move on to more specific bad stuff. Like last year when Janice Michael’s little brother ate a peanut remnant and had an allergic reaction and fell into a coma. Or last summer when that guy a year ahead of me, Kyle Borster, got drunk, got behind the wheel of his car, and hit a bus, sending three people to the hospital. When Joelle left the water running in the bathtub and flooded her basement. When Karin stopped eating.
Or when my dad got laid off from his job and we lost our health insurance. Maya had to get a job to pay for school because her scholarship wasn’t enough, and I got a summer job at Bella, and Mom had to get a job at Intralearn.
It’s going to be a long list. But maybe I should leave off the one about Dad. For now, at least. Why should she worry when there’s nothing she can do? How could she stop it? Tell Dad not to go to work on firing day?
I spend the rest of the day hunched over the notebook, writing. I can’t believe how many sucky things have happened over the last three and a half years. I keep at it until my stomach starts to grumble and I notice that it’s gotten dark outside. I stretch my arms in front of me.
Twinkle.
Huh? I grab hold of my arm and stare. The gold bracelet is back on my wrist. What the heck?
I push my chair back and grab the picture frame. The bad lipstick with braces—gone.
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “It’s my TV. It’s gone too.”
“What TV? The one in the living room?”
“No, the TV in my room.” TV—gone. Bryan—gone.
“When did we get a TV in our room?”
“Forget it.” I shake away the weird Bryan-is-gone twinges. “Not important. What’s important is that we got rid of Bryan.” I glance back at the picture. “A little piece of advice for the notebook? In the future, you should not wear that lipstick with your braces. It looks ridiculous. In fact, you probably shouldn’t wear any lipstick. I’d focus on eyeliner if I were you. Which I am.”
“I thought it looked good,” she squeaks.
“Well, it doesn’t. Sorry, Freshman Me.”
“Don’t call me Freshman Me. It’s confusing. Call me Devi.”
“ That’s confusing,” I tell her. “I’m Devi. Why don’t I call you Devorah and I can be Devi?”
“No way,” she says. “I don’t want to be Devorah. That’s what Mom and Dad call us when they’re mad.”
“Then I’ll be Senior and you can be—”
“Junior?”
“I was going to say Frosh.”
“Frosh,” she repeats. “I like it. I don’t like Senior, though.”
“Seniorita?”
“No.”
“Elder?”
She laughs. “No.”
“Genius?” I ask, smiling. “Oh, I know! I’ll be Ivy.”
“I want to be Ivy too!” she says jealously. “I love the name Ivy!”
“So do I. But we can’t both be Ivy. That’s the whole point. And I called it first.” Technically, I get everything first. And I know everything first. I know everything that is going to happen to her for the next three and a half years.
I know everything that will happen to everyone for the next three and a half years.
Or everything that was supposed to happen. Until I intervened.
Oh. My. God. If I can stop Bryan and me from dating, I can stop other bad things from happening too. I can fix the entire world. I need to think. To brainstorm. I need a list. “Frosh, I need to call you back,” I tell her.
As soon as I hang up, I pull the tattered green notebook out of the drawer, my heart pounding. Frosh’s list doesn’t have to just be about Bryan and my lost retainer. I can tell Frosh all the bad things that have happened in the world since I was a freshman, and she can stop them from taking place. She can fix them. I’m a modern superhero, rushing over to save the day! I’m Future Girl! All I need is a cape.
I flip to the last page of the notebook and try to think of some of the bad stuff that’s gone down in the last three and a half years. I should start with big things. Like wars and famines and hurricanes. And then I’ll move on to more specific bad stuff. Like last year when Janice Michael’s little brother ate a peanut remnant and had an allergic reaction and fell into a coma. Or last summer when that guy a year ahead of me, Kyle Borster, got drunk, got behind the wheel of his car, and hit a bus, sending three people to the hospital. When Joelle left the water running in the bathtub and flooded her basement. When Karin stopped eating.
Or when my dad got laid off from his job and we lost our health insurance. Maya had to get a job to pay for school because her scholarship wasn’t enough, and I got a summer job at Bella, and Mom had to get a job at Intralearn.
It’s going to be a long list. But maybe I should leave off the one about Dad. For now, at least. Why should she worry when there’s nothing she can do? How could she stop it? Tell Dad not to go to work on firing day?
I spend the rest of the day hunched over the notebook, writing. I can’t believe how many sucky things have happened over the last three and a half years. I keep at it until my stomach starts to grumble and I notice that it’s gotten dark outside. I stretch my arms in front of me.
Twinkle.
Huh? I grab hold of my arm and stare. The gold bracelet is back on my wrist. What the heck?
I push my chair back and grab the picture frame. The bad lipstick with braces—gone.
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