The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

pouting models in skimpy bikinis. It was like a pre-pubescent girl’s hangout. A real turn-on for this guy.

“Does he chant Daddy’s home when he comes to visit?”

Birdie gnawed at her nails. A sure sign I’d hit a nerve.

“What does Earl Rafferty get out of this, anyway? Did he set you up? Does he get a weekly cut?”

She shrugged again. “Maybe.”

I wanted to take her and shake her by her skinny shoulders. The pounding started up again in my head. “Don’t you get it, Birdie, or do I need to spell it out to you? They’re all using you. Earl’s a pimp, your sugar daddy is a pedophile and you’re nothing more than a whore. And an underage one for that matter. They took you when you were only fourteen.” I could barely breathe. I wanted so badly to drag her out of that stifling dollhouse of an apartment.

She slumped down on the stool again only this time fat tears oozed from her eyes. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, placing her hands across her tummy.

I curled and uncurled my fists until they hurt. “You mean that creep didn’t use a rubber?”

Now her shoulders were shaking. “He says it’s like screwing someone wearing pantyhose. He can’t enjoy it.”

“And you allowed it? Does he know?”

“About the baby?” She shook her head. “I’m gonna tell him.”

“And what about Earl? What do you think he’s gonna say?”

“About what?”

“You’re more stupid than I thought. What’s he gonna say when his big investment is out of action for a year or more?”

She was sobbing now, with big, heaving gulps that made her whole body shake. “It’ll be okay. He says we’ll live together and have the baby. In our own house. He promised.”

“Who? You and this creep?”

She nodded, looking up at me with wounded child’s eyes. I remembered a poster on the bedroom wall at the Penners’. Bear the cross and wear the crown. I’d always thought Birdie would be the princess with the crown, but now I realized it was about me. She would always be the cross I’d be forced to bear. A cross that would eventually crush me under its colossal weight. I felt cold and shaky and sweaty at the same time.

“Where’s Loni?”

Birdie wiped her hand across her runny nose. Another old Birdie habit.

“Gone,” she said in a small voice. A phone rang from somewhere. Birdie sprang to attention. We both looked towards the bedroom.

“Gone where? She left you?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

The way she was gnawing at her fingernails, I knew something was up. I caught her wrist. “Tell me. I mean tell me everything.”

She reached for a cigarette pack with shaking hands, fumbled, then dropped it.

“She pissed Earl off, so he sent her to the boats.”

“Which boats?”

“Up north. Duluth. At the port. She’s working the ships.”

I thrust my face into hers. “Doing what?”

“You service the crew. But it’s not as bad as it sounds. You get to cruise the lake.”

I stood up so fast I knocked the stool over. The ringing started up again.

“I have to get that,” she said, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes that kept darting towards the phone.

I scanned the room. “Where are my clothes? We have to get out of here. You don’t understand what kind of danger you’re in, Birdie. You’re coming with me. We’re gonna find Dennis. It’s not too late.”

By that time I was crying. Tears streamed down my face as she ran into the bedroom to get the damn phone that wouldn’t stop ringing. I slammed closet doors open to find my clothes, until the last door smacked against the wall revealing a washer and dryer. My clothes were still damp but I ripped them out and stuffed them into a plastic laundry bag. I needed to get away from there but I had to find something to wear. I stormed into the bedroom to find her perched on the edge of the bed talking in a little girl voice to someone.

“Yes, I’m waiting for you, baby,” she crooned. “Can’t wait for your hot bod.”

She swung around, saw me and covered the phone. “Get out,” she hissed.

“I need clothes.”

“Just help yourself and leave. He’s coming over.”

She watched as I pulled the mirror doors open. Flowery perfume wafted out of the closet, one side taken up with a row of lacy baby doll pajamas and frilled little girl dresses. I yanked them off their hangers and threw them to the floor. Birdie strained her neck to see what I was doing then went back to talking in hushed tones. From the other side I grabbed the white crop top and embroidered jeans and struggled into them, amazed they actually fit. A knitted tan cardigan was roomy enough to cover my midriff, so I took that too. For good measure I snatched a dress – a red, clingy one – and a denim shirt. Then I spied it. Her secret dream. On the floor in the corner a Babies R Us bag. Filled with bibs and toweling sleepers, tiny bootees. I took the pink and blue knitted hat from the top of the pile, stuffed it into my pocket, then backed out of the closet with my stash.

Birdie glared at me angrily, but she was a prisoner to that phone.

“Tell your pervert boyfriend I’m going to the police to report him.”

She threw the phone against the bedspread but he must’ve heard me. “Shut your mouth,” she screamed. “Just get the hell out of here and don’t come back.”

“I’m gonna do it,” I yelled. “Tell the asshole I’m really gonna report him. You’ll see.”

Her hand flew out to the side and grabbed the ceramic Hello Kitty jar from her night table. She hucked it right at me. I dodged but it glanced off the side of my head. I lunged towards the door.

“You don’t deserve me, Birdie,” I screamed but she slammed the bedroom door shut with her foot.

I swept the jam and peanut butter and coffee cups off the breakfast bar on my