Read Online My Miserable Life by F. L. Block - Free Book Online Page B

“My friend Tree has been giving me acupuncture, which has helped a lot. I tend to get a little anxious.”
    â€œBen, is there anything else you want to talk about?” Ms. Washington asked.
    Not Serena Perl! But I did think about mentioning my bike. “No,” I said.
    â€œIt would be great to talk about how you are feeling. Are you sure?”
    I nodded but wouldn’t look at Ms. Washington.
    *   *   *
    My mom was really quiet on the way home. When we got there, she said, “Your teacher did the right thing calling me in, Ben. I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything.”

    I thought about my shiny new bike. All I wanted was to ride it by myself in the fresh air and let the wind blow the day out of my head, let my legs pedal away the stress. Even though Tree had come over to ride with me a few times, it wasn’t enough. And I still felt a little awkward with him.
    â€œWhy won’t you let me ride my bike by myself!” I shouted at my mom.
    She sat down next to me. “Ben, I have to explain something to you. There’s a reason I won’t let you ride your bike alone. And it isn’t because I’m mean.”
    â€œNo, it’s because you are a safe mom!” I shouted, like it was the worst insult I could think of. Except to mention her messy hair and yoga pants, which seemed a little below the belt.
    â€œI think it’s time for me to be straight with you, Ben. I don’t want to scare you, but there are dangerous people out there.”

    â€œI know that,” I said. She had already told me you shouldn’t talk to strangers and that some people weren’t safe. Hello. I mean, she was the one who had allowed the needles and spikes to come into our home. “That’s why you should get me a cell phone! Have you ever thought of that? Angelina has one.”
    â€œShe’s older and walks to school with Amanda Panda. When you’re in middle school, you can have a phone. The radiation is not good for growing brains, and the only reason I let your sister have one is for emergencies.”
    â€œI want to be able to walk to school alone! And ride my bike to school! Emergencies? Angelina texts all day about what outfit she’s going to wear. Is that an emergency?”
    My mom didn’t seem to hear me. “There was a little boy who got lost on his way home from school. His parents had let him go by himself for the first time. They had practiced with him, and they were nervous, but they let him go.”
    â€œSo what?” I said. I was so mad, it felt like my heart was the rubber one on Rocko’s Halloween costume—not my lame costume, but the cool one that spurted blood.
    â€œAnd someone kidnapped him,” she said.
    I felt like when I broke my collarbone, except I felt it in every bone of my body. “They kidnapped him?”
    â€œYes,” said my mom.
    â€œHow old was he?”
    â€œNine.”
    â€œDid they ever find him?”
    â€œNo.”
    I thought about this little kid walking home, all proud of himself, excited to see his parents and celebrate with them and then getting lost and someone, some big monster, grabbing him and then his parents waiting and waiting and worrying and then calling the police and not hearing from him. I was so scared and sad and mad I couldn’t express all those things, and there was only one person to take it out on. So I tried to hit my mom.
    â€œI hate you,” I said. “I hate your hair and your clothes and the lunches you pack me and your boring house and your safeness!”
    I had never tried to hit my mother before.
    She held my arms down and pulled me to her. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry, baby.”
    â€œDon’t call me baby,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    â€œI’m not scared,” I said. “I just hate you for being so safe.”
    â€œI