The Secret Talent by Jo Whittemore Page B

I asked.
    â€œMy watch shoots laser beams,” he said. “You really think I’m going to keep it close to my body?”
    I groaned. “So why are you squatting?”
    â€œA guy with a laser beam watch probably has enemies.”
    â€œSo do guys without them.” I gave him a pointed look.
    On Wednesday afternoon, he remembered his basic manners, at least, but when I asked him to show up looking his best, he appeared in his regular school clothes with a bonus grease stain.
    â€œDo you own any shirts with collars?” I asked.
    â€œMy pajama top,” he said. “Do you want—”
    â€œNo.” I pointed at his jeans. “How about any nice pants?”
    â€œThese are my nice pants,” Ryan said.
    â€œBut you wrote on them.” I studied a leg closer. “And drew half a bird sticking out of a cat’s mouth.”
    â€œInspired by real life,” he informed me. “See, there was this chewed-up—”
    I held out a hand. “Look at my face. Do I look like I want to hear more?” I had him sit in a chair. “Let’s talk about reading people.”
    Ryan grinned confidently. “That’ll be easy.My aunt has a subscription.”
    I shook my head. “Not People the magazine.” I pointed to him and me. “People. You need to watch how they react to your behavior.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it’ll keep you from getting punched.” I opened my arms. “Talk to me like you usually would, and watch my face. What are you doing for Christmas?”
    Ryan scowled.
    â€œOkay, see, that topic clearly makes you unhappy.” I gestured at his expression. “So I’ll switch to something else.”
    But Ryan wasn’t ready to. “Let me guess. You and your family are gonna sit around the tree, opening presents by the fire while you laugh and hug.”
    â€œWell,” I said slowly, “we don’t typically light the tree on fire. But yeah, we’ll open presentsand spend time together.” I shrugged. “Just a normal family Christmas.”
    â€œNormal.” Ryan’s scowl deepened. “My aunt has to work on Christmas, so I spend the day by myself. Guess we’re freaks, huh?”
    I shook my head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
    â€œI usually get one or two presents. How many do you get?”
    â€œOkay, now’s the time to notice I’m uncomfortable.” I pointed to myself. “Could we talk about something else please?”
    â€œYou brought it up,” Ryan grumbled.
    â€œAnd I wish I hadn’t.”
    Still, my incident with Ryan stayed with me, and at lunch on Thursday, I asked my friends, “Are you guys thinking about how much a gift costs before you suggest it? Some people can’t afford much.”
    Vanessa tilted her hand from side to side. “I’mkeeping it in Coach range.”
    I wrinkled my forehead. “What does that mean?”
    â€œNot too cheap, but not too expensive,” she explained. “Like a Coach wristlet.”
    â€œI’m also keeping it in Coach range,” said Brooke.
    At surprised looks from the rest of us, she grinned and said, “What I’d spend on a gift for my soccer coach.”
    We all groaned, and I threw a cracker at her. She caught it in one hand and crammed it into her mouth.
    Heather hadn’t spoken up yet, too intent on devouring the fried chicken she’d just sat down with.
    â€œYou know, nobody’s going to steal that from you,” I said as she gnawed a drumstick.
    Heather blushed and held a hand in front of her mouth. “Sorry, but I skipped breakfast thismorning to get to choir practice early. And I really can’t function without pancakes, eggs, turkey bacon, fruit, potatoes . . .”
    â€œHow are you not the size of Santa Claus?” marveled Brooke.
    Heather smirked at her. “Anyway, to answer your question, Tim, I’ve been