The Fourth Child by Jessica Winter (best classic novels TXT) 📕

for English class, and in a few short weeks she would have the option of switchingout of his class for Mrs. Bonnano’s poetry module, where students got to go to Delaware Park to write sonnets. She could becomposing lines on the landscape architecture of Frederick Law Olmsted instead of trying to figure out why Mr. Smith was payingher so much attention today, or why he was ignoring her today, or why he’d forced her to rewrite her quite fine essay on thefirst half of The Things They Carried (“This is so bad I can’t bring myself to grade it”) or why he’d given her an A+ on the bad essay she’d written on the secondhalf of The Things They Carried the morning it was due (“Loose yet incisive—love to watch you think!”), or what she had done this time to make him mad, and whether or not she would escape consequences for making him mad, and if he thought that not casting herin the musical, after pressuring her so intensely to audition, was some kind of consequence, a punishment—well, she had escaped granting him that satisfaction, too. She could try out for spring track instead, or swim laps in the afternoon so she wouldn’t be out of shape for summer swim club, or she could do both, if she was feeling ambitious—and maybe she was! Or she could spend afternoons with Dad at his new development, like he was always asking her to, learn about the family business. Or she could do some of the volunteer work that Mom used to do but couldn’t anymore because of Mirela.

Or she could help Mom with Mirela. She could take the lie she’d told Mr. Smith and make it true. Mom was having such a toughtime, and whatever mistakes Mom had made, Mirela was with them now, she was part of the family, she was Lauren’s sister—she’dnever thought she’d have a sister!—and Mirela deserved better than a sister who was always hiding from her playing make-believein a school auditorium or watching MTV in Paula’s poky house. They all made fun of Mirela for running away, but really Laurenwas the one running away from Mirela, from all of them. And that was about to change.

“Lauren!” Paula was following her. They stopped at the edge of the cafeteria pit. “What happened back there?”

“Eh, wasn’t my day,” Lauren said, throwing her hand like she was shooing a fly. A brave smile, the smile of someone who roseabove. “You should go back—you’ll lose your place in line.”

“Okay—do you want me to meet you at my house after?”

“You know, I should probably spend some time at home. Good luck!” Lauren grinned wider and walked out of school.

 

The cast list for Grease was posted just outside Tedquarters on Friday afternoon, just as classes let out for the weekend. Lauren breezed by to take a look, just out of curiosity, and she saw that Andy was chosen for hotfooting greaser Danny, and Julie was goody-two-shoes Sandy, and Stitch was auxiliary greaser Kenickie, and Deepa was sweet, stupid Frenchie, and Abby and Claire were in the chorus as secondary Pink Ladies—as they explicitly wished to be, as a low-time-commitment senior-year lark—and Lauren, incredibly, was wisecracking Rizzo, de facto head of the Pink Ladies.

“You? Again?” Andy blurted behind her. Lauren knew who he meant. Without turning to acknowledge him, or the several voicesmurmuring congratulations to her, she walked down the hallway, past the band practice room, and out the door, like she couldn’tcare less about any of it, like she hadn’t noticed all the attention she was getting.

“Another lead!” Mom exclaimed when Lauren got home. “And only a freshman. Lauren, you’re an absolute star. I’m so proud ofyou!”

To celebrate, Mom sent Mirela to Nana Dee’s for the night and rented Grease from Blockbuster for the rest of the family to watch together. They ordered pizza and wings from Bocce’s, with extra celeryand blue cheese for Mom. Dad came home from work on time like he used to. Mom went to kiss him hello and he put his handson her shoulders—a feint at an embrace, but really a defensive block—as he thrust one cheek at her, saying something aboutneeding to brush his teeth after having Ted’s Hot Dogs for lunch.

“I haven’t seen this in so long,” Mom said as the movie began with Danny and Sandy kissing on a beach, which PJ and Sean foundvery upsetting.

“Suck my kiss!” PJ said through a mouthful of Sean’s ear. The Red Hot Chili Peppers had infiltrated the area middle schools.

“This movie was huge when Lauren was a baby,” Mom said.

“All I remember are the songs and the leather pants Olivia whatshername wears at the end,” Dad said. He was sitting up quitestraight on the couch, not picking at the bottoms of his bare feet like he usually did after a long day. Like he was a guest.He hadn’t gone upstairs to brush his teeth like he’d said he would.

“Is Lauren Olivia whatshername?” Sean asked, wiping his ear on PJ’s pant leg.

“No, Lauren is Ritzy,” Mom said.

“No, Rizzo—like Ratso Rizzo,” Dad said.

“Like Fatso Rizzo,” Sean corrected him.

“Yes, I have to sew my own fat suit to be in the musical,” Lauren said.

“You won’t need one!” PJ yelled, pinching the skin above her knee, and Lauren smacked him on the arm and PJ ululated and turneda somersault on the carpet and their father pounded his fist three times on the arm of the couch.

“I don’t think of Dustin Hoffman as fat,” Mom said.

“Rizzo is the one that gets pregnant,” PJ said from the floor. He was eating a wing and bicycling his legs.

“No wings on the carpet,” Mom told PJ.

“Wait, how have you seen this?” Lauren asked PJ.

“No, Rizzo is the gay hooker,” Dad said.

“Who?” PJ asked. An orange globule of wing sauce arcing through the air.

“PJ, the carpet,” Mom said.

“Fatso Rizzo,” Dad said.

“A pregnant hooker,” Sean said.

“No, Lauren is the pregnant hooker,” PJ said.

“Only in the movie, I bet,” Mom said. “They probably clean it up for