"Babysitters Club 028 Welcome Back, Stacey!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"Please tell me more about your problems," I said firmly. I didn't look at my parents, just at my plate, which was growing cleaner by the moment.
I heard Dad say, "Mostly we just have differences, Stace."
"Irreconcilable ones," added Mom. "We are not meant to be living together any longer."
That did it. I was pretty much finished with my dinner by then, so I banged my fork onto the table, stood up, threw down my napkin, and stalked away without excusing myself.
I stalked right into my bedroom and slammed the door shut. I slammed it so hard
I could feel my walls shake. The china figures on my dresser rattled.
I locked my door.
Then I switched on my stereo. I put my loudest tape in the tape deck, turned the volume up as high as it would go, and blasted out my eardrums for a minute or two. But I turned the volume down before any of the neighbors could complain.
Mom and Dad knocked on my door five times that night. I wouldn't answer them. I wouldn't leave my room, either. At ten-thirty, I fell asleep with my clothes on. I didn't wake up until seven o'clock the next morning.
Chapter 6.
Thursday was the most awful morning of my life. My body felt grungy because I'd spent the night in my clothes, and my mouth felt like an old sock. It tasted the way I imagined an old sock would taste, too.
Groggily, I rolled out of bed, tripping over my sneakers, which were lying on their sides next to the bed. I turned off the power on my stereo and looked out my window. (I hadn't bothered to close the blinds the night before.)
Outside I saw a chilly gray day.
Perfect, I thought. The day fit my mood.
I made my way to the door of my bedroom and listened for a moment. I wanted to put .off running into Mom or Dad for as long as possible. I didn't hear a sound. Had Dad already left for work? He usually left early - but not by seven o'clock.
I dared to open my door. Then I tiptoed into
the hallway and peeked into the living room.
My father was asleep on the couch! He and Mom didn't even share their bedroom anymore. How awful. How long had that been going on? I wondered. And did Mom ever sleep on the couch or was it all up to Dad? I turned away, sure I had seen something I wasn't supposed to have seen. But it couldn't be helped. We'd all overslept a little that morning.
I retreated to the bathroom, where I locked myself in. (I seemed to feel more secure locked into places.) I took a long, hot shower and washed my hair twice. Afterward, I brushed my teeth two or three times, trying to get rid of the old-sock taste. While I was brushing, a knock sounded at the door.
"Morning, honey!" called Mom's voice. "Why don't you take it easy today? You don't have to go to school if you don't want to."
In answer, I turned the water on as hard as it would go.
A few moments later I was locked in my room again, trying to decide what to wear. I was going to school, of course. There was no way I would stay at home with either Mom or Dad. (I was pretty sure they wouldn't both be there.)
Another knock.
This time Dad's voice called, "Hi, Stace! How do bacon and eggs sound for breakfast? I'll cook. I'm going to the office a little later than usual this morning."
I kept my mouth shut.
I had never, ever felt so angry at my parents. Not even when they had dragged me to this awful doctor who wanted to change my whole life around in order to help my diabetes.
Dad waited for my answer. When he didn't get one, he left. I heard his footsteps retreat into the living room on his way to the kitchen.
I dressed. I put on one of my better outfits - short red pants with purple suspenders over a bright yellow and black sweat shirt. On my feet I put my purple push-down socks and a pair of red hightop sneakers.
I added jewelry - a big necklace with wooden bananas and oranges strung on it, and dangly earrings shaped like sunglasses.
I fixed my hair. I brushed it until it was full and shiny. Then I rolled up a red scarf and tied it in my hair like a headband. My outfit was pretty colorful. I think I was trying to make up for the gray day.
After I had tied the scarf in my hair, I was ready for school. I wished I could just beam
myself there like they do on Star Trek. That way, I wouldn't have to see my parents. But obviously, I couldn't beam myself anywhere. Even if I could have, what would have been the point? I'd have to face Mom and Dad sooner or later.
So I did. I unlocked my door and walked into the kitchen.
"Good morning!" said my parents.
Mom was setting the table. Dad was standing over the stove, turning bacon and stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.
I took my glass from the table, filled it with orange juice, got a bagel out of the refrigerator and a banana from the fruit bowl, and sat down to my own version of breakfast.
"No eggs?" said Dad at the same moment that Mom said, "No bacon?"
I pulled an old trick. I reached over to the counter and picked up The New York Times. I opened it and pretended to read, but mostly I just concentrated on eating fast.
Mom and Dad tried several more times to talk to me.
"We know you're mad," said Mom. (No kidding.)
"We understand," said Dad. (Do you? Do you really?)
After that, they lapsed into silence.
As soon as possible, I left the table, gave my teeth another brushing, gathered up my schoolbooks, put on my blue-jean jacket, and walked out the door. For once in her life, my mother didn't call after me to have fun and be careful.
Even though I didn't have any time to spare, I dawdled on the way to school. I wanted to think about things. I hadn't done my homework the night before, so what did it matter if I got to school late, anyway? Besides, knowing Mom and Dad, one of them was calling my guidance counselor right now to tell her what was going on. I would probably get some special treatment for awhile, I thought, as I left our block and made a right onto a busy avenue.
Caitlin did. Keith did. Shayla did.
Who are Caitlin, Keith, and Shayla? They're kids in my grade whose parents got divorced earlier in the year. Think of it. Three other divorces right in the eighth grade. I sure wasn't the only divorced kid around. (That's what Caitlin and Shayla call themselves - divorced kids, meaning kids; with divorced parents.) But that didn't make me any less angry.
In fact, it made me more
angry.
What was wrong with parents these days? Why couldn't they get married and stay married like parents did in olden times? Whatever happened to commitment? What happened to "forever"? To "till death do us part"? Really, someone ought to rewrite the wedding vows so that the bride and groom say, "Till divorce do us part."
Even while I was thinking those things, though, I was remembering something I'd heard Caitlin say at the beginning of the year. She'd said, "I'm glad my parents are getting divorced. Now I won't have to listen to their fights."