"Cooney, Caroline B - Janie Johnson 02 - Whatever Happened to Janie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cooney Caroline B)

interstate."
"Was the interstate built when you were kid
napped?" said Nicole. "Did that woman drive you
away on 195?"
Mrs. Spring, despite phone, crosswords, Nin
tendo songs, CNN, and address book, was paying
attention. "Nicole," she said sharply.
"I'm just asking."
"Just wear your dress, Nicole. If you feel the
need to ask another question, fill your mouth with a
cookie."
Suddenly, like the next act of a play, or perhaps
a different play altogether, the scene changed. Mr.
Spring kicked Stephen, Mark, and Drew out of the
living room so he could watch sports on television; a
parent arrived in a van and siphoned off all the
twins' friends; Mrs. Spring got off the phone and
began preparing spaghetti sauce. This consisted of
browning some hamburger and sausage and onions
and throwing in two immense jars of storebought
sauce and then adding-over the twins' moans and
protests-a big freezer box of broccoli.
~ this," she said to Janie, and Janie stood
up right where she was sewing. reached across the
small kitchen and stirred slowly with the wooden
spoon.
I wonder if I'll ever get used to this, she thought.
The way they live. The noise they make.
And Janie Johnson realized, with a sick lurch,
that she was used to it. She was enjoying herself.
The family was still something to watch rather than
take part in, but these people were no longer aliens
from outer space: they were nice and bumped into each other and cooked spaghetti by the vat.
She couldn't start liking them! How would her mother feel if Janle had a good time?
The twins came into the kitchen to sample the sauce, letting no vegetable contaminate their spoonfuls.
"You should have covered your dress with plastic horses, Nicole," said Brendan. "Remember how you used to own twelve thousand My Pretty Ponies?"
"Six," said Nicole. "I had six of them."
Everybody laughed. Mrs. Spring went down the hall. Mr. Spring turned up the volume on the TV so
he could hear over the kitchen laughter.
"I used to ride," said Janie, feeling that she was acting dangerously by participating at all; this was like bungeejumping, to join the Springs in conversation.
"Real horses?" said Jodie, amazed and impressed.
Janie nodded. "I took lessons for three years. I entered lots of shows. The way the stables do It, so that everybody triumphs, they make sure you're in a riding class with very few others. That way you're bound to get a ribbon. I got tons of ribbons but I was never much of a rider. The third horse I owned was hard to manage and I lost interest."
She had said something wrong. They were staring at her.
"I thought you said you took gymnastics and flute," said Stephen.
He was angry. Janie could not imagine what made him angry. "All the girls took flute. Sixth grade," said Janie. "Every girl 1 knew started flute and every boy started drums or trumpet."
"How did your parents afford all those lessons?" said Brendan.
"Her parents were rich," said Brian.
'They were not her parents," said Stephen. "Stop calling them that."
'They were my parents," said Janie. "I didn't have any others."
"Here!" said Stephen, stabbing the kitchentable top with his index finger. "You had parents here."