Читать книгу Promise to a Boy - Mary Brady - Страница 12

“I DON’T WANT A CAST.”

Reed watched as Abby sat down beside the boy, but not close enough so that he might try to scoot away, and then she ignored him.

“I don’t. I don’t.” The red-haired, freckled-face boy of about Kyle’s age sat holding one forearm in his other hand. An ice pack sat on top of the arm.

“Yeah,” Abby said without looking at him. “I don’t like it when people treat me special, either.”

The boy frowned but didn’t say anything to that.

She ignored him again and fiddled with the stethoscope around her neck as if it held great interest.

“It’s icky,” she spoke again. “Having people do my chores for me.”

“Wadda ya mean?” The boy blew at the hair drooping in his eyes so he wouldn’t have to use a hand to push the lock aside.

The boy’s mother stood in the corner biting her lips so she wouldn’t grin. Reed knew how she felt. He found himself doing the same thing.

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to do dishes—at all—for at least a week, maybe longer, and then maybe badly enough that your mother would take over and send you out to play. Making your bed would be out for a while, too. I hate it when that happens. I want to make my bed every day. Twice if I take a nap.”

The wheels inside the boy’s head were turning.

“And the colors. Did you see the colors? Looks like a bag of Starburst candy in there.” She pointed at the almost neon colors of the cast samples. Nice tack, Reed thought. The boy probably didn’t even notice the change from the negative to the positive.