Pointe Shoes

Chapter seven

Max had the strangest driving habits ever. He blinked really fast three times before he turned left, hummed on country roads, was eerily silent in cities, and moved his lips silently on highways.

Its funny, what you notice about someone when you care. I wondered what people knew about me. Did Marnie know exactly what I did when someone annoyed me? Had my mom memorized how my eyes scrunched up when I focused on something? Did Max notice how my cheeks flamed whenever he complimented me?

We were headed for Estes Park, Colorado to climb some good old mountains, in  Max's words. Estes was eleven hours away, so in the next hour or two we were planning on stopping.

"Nutella or fluffernutter?"

"What the heck is fluffernutter? Is that some sort of bird? Or bunny?"

"Clara-Beara! You cannot be a fluffernutter virgin!" Max gasped, sounding extremely offended by my lack of bunny or bird or whatever knowledge.

"MAX.What is it?" I yelled when he started going on and on about 'kids these days' and 'fluffernutter virgins'.

"It's a mixture of peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. Its the food of Gods." Max stated excitedly, making me giggle.

"Incase you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a God." I explained, rolling my eyes.

"No, but you must be an angel because it hurt when you fell from Heaven... Dang it!" He scowled, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Are you practicing your pick up lines on me again, Brewell?" I teased, watching the right turn signal blink.

"I'm not practicing, babe." Max winked, and turned back to the road, not even noticing the flush of my cheeks. I knew we were just joking, but the pounding of my heart certainly wasn't a joke.

"Hey, you mind reading for a bit?" He asked causally. I swallowed, mentally telling my heart to chill out.

"Sure." I pulled the book from the glove compartment and cleared my throat.

"What happened last time?" Max asked, running his fingers, which were extremely long, through his chocolate locks.

"Another person had just stopped having Rosa do their laundry and Liesel wrote to her Mama again." I replied, flipping to page 106.

"When her birthday came around, there was no gift. There was no gift because there was no money, and at the time, Papa was out of tobacco.
'I told you.' Mama pointed a finger at him. 'I told you not to give her both books for Christmas. But no. Did you listen? Of course not!'
'I know!' He turned quietly to the girl. 'I'm sorry, Liesel. We just can't afford it.'
Liesel didn't mind. She didn't whine or moan, or stamp her feet. She simply swallowed the disappointment and decided one calculated risk- a present from herself. She would gather all of the accrued letters to her mother, stuff them into one envelope, and she would use just a tiny portion of the washing and ironing money to mail it. Then, of course, she was take the Watschen, most likely in the kitchen, and she would not make a sound.

Three days later, the plan came to fruition.
'Some of it's missing.' Mama counted the money a fourth time, with Liesel over at the stove. It was warm there and it cooked the fast flow of her blood. 'What happened, Liesel?'
She lied. 'They must have given me less than usual.'
'Did you count it?'
She broke. 'I spent it, Mama.'
Rosa came closer. This was not a good sign. She was very close to the wooden spoons. 'You what?'
Before she could answer, the wooden spoon came down on Liesel Meminger's body like the gait of God. Red marks like footprints, and they burned. From the floor, when it was over, the girl actually looked up and explained.
There was pulse and yellow lights, all together. Her eyes blinked. 'I mailed my letters.'
What came to her then was the dustiness of the floor, the feeling that her clothes were more next to her than on her, and the sudden realization that this would all be for nothing- that her mother would never write back and she would never see her again. The reality of this gave her a second Watschen. It stung her, and it did not stop for many minutes.
Above her, Rosa appeared to be smudged, but she soon clarified as her cardboard face loomed closer. Dejected, she stood there in all her plumpness, holding the wooden spoon at her side like a club. She reached down and leaked a little. 'I'm sorry, Liesel.'
Liesel knew her well enough to understand it was not for the hiding." I took a deep breath to continue reading, but was cut off back Max.