"Betty Miles - The Trouble With Thirteen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miles Betty)

"Tell Kenny to bring his math book," he said.
"O.K." I felt so stupid! I ran up my driveway to the back door, hoping I wasn't late.
"You're late," Kenny said right away. He was stirring a pan on the stove.
"I was at Rachel's. I didn't realize what time it was." I bent down to pat Nora. "Hello, sweetie," I said. Her soft fur felt very comforting. "What should I do?" I asked Kenny.
"Make a salad and set the table," he said crossly. "Get moving. The cowboy beans are ready."
"Cowboy beans" is what Mom named chili when we were little. Kenny and I used to play cowboys all the time. We played together a lot. We hardly ever do now. We used to keep our doors open and go in and out of each other's rooms. Now Kenny shuts his. Last fall when he started to go to high school he took down the sign he'd had on the door ever since first grade: This is Kenny's own Private room. I might not be In, but just Open the Door and come in and Play with my Toys if
you want. Kenny keeps his radio tuned to WRVR, this New York jazz station. He plays it so loud that even if I knocked, he might not hear me. So I don't knock. It's funny to say this about my own brother that I live in the same house with, but I miss Kenny.
I began to set the plates around.
"What's new at Rachel's?" Kenny asked, as though there couldn't possibly be anything new. Sometimes he's so condescending.
"Her father might go to Cuba." I wanted to tell him the whole thing and have him reassure me. But I wasn't sure he would.
"I wouldn't mind being him, going all the places he goes."
"Rachel minds." I pulled the lettuce out of the refrigerator drawer. "You know what, Ken?" I couldn't stop myself. "Rachel thinks her parents might get a divorce!" I was sorry as soon as I'd said it. It was just like me to blat it out.
But Kenny acted cool. "It's probably her imagination. Rachel has a vivid imagination. Like some other people I could mention."
"Kenny, it's not! She was practically crying just now."
"Well, if they're going to do it, they're going to. People get divorced all the time. Hurry up with the salad."
How could he be so unfeeling? I sliced the cucumber carefully, holding myself in. I wasn't going to say another word. But I couldn't help worrying.
When Kenny and I were little, we used to think that if our parents argued it meant they might be going to get divorced. Once I got up the nerve to ask Mom. She didn't laugh at me. She just said that was one thing I didn't have to worry about. I always remember how sure she sounded.
"Hi, kids." Mom walked into the kitchen looking dazed. She always does when she's just stopped work. Nora jumped up on her as though Mom had been gone for days. Mom pushed her off. "Get down, Nora. I saw you an hour ago, when I came down for coffee, remember?" She rubbed the back of her neck. "I get so stiff bending over that table. This catalogue is getting me down, there's so much detail to it."
Mom had on her usual work clothes: jeans and a T-shirt and rubber flip-flops. She never wears real shoes unless it's midwinter, when the attic gets pretty cold. She says she can't think as well with shoes on.
"I'm starving," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Thanks for doing everything. How are you both?"
"O.K.," Kenny said. He'll never give you a real answer.
"O.K.," I said. I didn't want to bring up Rachel, after the way Kenny had reacted.
"How was school?" asked Mom.
"O.K.," Kenny said again.
"Fine," I said. I tried to think, of something to tell her about it, but I couldn't. School seemed a long way off.
Mom said, "Well, you're not the most talkative types, either of you." She looked at the clock. "Dad should be home any minute."
I tried to imagine how I would feel if Dad didn't come home, not just one night but every night. I just couldn't imagine it.
My dad's unusually nice. He works in an accounting firm in New York, but he's not like a stereotype of a businessman. He has hundreds of hobbies- gardening, jogging, woodworking, climbing mountains in Vermont. He makes us special birthday cards with little cartoon pictures. My twelve-year-old card had a raccoon and a skunk with balloons coming out of their mouths, saying things like "Wow!" and "Far Out!" and "Twelve-count 'em-twelve!" My friends thought it was neat. I still have it on my bulletin board.
Nora barked, and I heard Dad on the porch. Mom went to the door.
"Come on, Annie. Get out the butter and the milk. Everything else is ready," Kenny said.
"Don't nag me!" I knew it was a mistake to say that when he was already mad, but I couldn't stop myself.
Kenny turned on me. "What's wrong with you? You're pretty touchy for someone who came home late and let me do all the work."
"All the work?" I snorted. "Opening a few cans of beans is work?"
"That's not the point. The point is, you said you'd be home at five thirty and you didn't get here till quarter to six. I don't mind fixing dinner myself-it's simpler without you, actually. But it's not fair when you promised to be on time. It's irresponsible."
Nora ran back into the kitchen and jumped up at his arm as he set the skillet on the table.
"And naturally, you forgot to feed Nora," Kenny said smugly.
"I was just going to!" He makes me so mad.
Dad came in. "Hi, kids. Smells good. You the cooks tonight?"
"/ am," Kenny said. "Annie just wandered in a couple of minutes ago."
"I was just a little bit late!" I protested. "I made the salad!"
"Big deal," Kenny retorted.
Dad didn't seem to notice the argument. "How're things, Ken? Good day?"
"Yeah."
Dad smiled at me. "What's new, Coke?" Coke is his nickname for me. It's short for Coco the Bird Girl.
"Nothing much." Usually I love to tell him stuff.
Dad went upstairs to change, and Mom went up to talk with him. I got Nora's dish out and started pouring her dog chow. She jumped around, bumping into my elbow so some of the chow spilled.
"I'm getting it for you," I told her. "Take it easy!" I set the dish down and Nora began gulping her chow, pushing the dish across the floor toward the refrigerator where I was getting the milk. "Look out!" I said. Sometimes even Nora can be a drag.
"That dog's a real drag sometimes," Kenny said, pushing her out of the way.
"She is not! And you don't have to kick her!" I said quickly.
"I'm not kicking her. I'd just like to move around in here without bumping into her, for once."