لخّصلي

I stared at my words until they began to blur into strange black shapes."I may be outgrowing Saturday morning breakfasts. After all, I'll be in high school next fall. I think should reconsider its place in the family routine. Though both my parents are committed

to "healthful eating," Dad has a severe weakness for coffee,

which he drinks black.I yelled down irritably

15 16 I glared in the direction of the stairs, as if Mom and Dad were standing on the landing with their wheat-germ muffins and scrambled tofu with fig sauce in hand.20 I made a face as he passed me a plate of his infamous, deformed-looking, sawdust tasting wheat-germ muffins.A bushy-tailed squirrel raced across the under my window, momentarily giving me an idea, but as soon as it was gone, so was my idea.I might as well have been performing for my goldfish, though, because Dad didn't look at me. I passed the plate back to him, muffins intact.I stared out my window for inspiration, but our overgrown backyard offered up nothing.Dad was downstairs in the kitchen, preparing his signature breakfast dish: scrambled tofu with fig sauce.Their idea of eating breakfast together on Saturday mornings has always gotten on my nerves, but this summer it was bugging me extra good

Sighing again, I dragged my body down the stairs and into the kitchen, getting angrier with each step.A great opening line for a novel, I thought foolishly, grinning like an idiot and feeling oh-so-pleased with myself..I looked at the roof, the fence, the driveway, the old oak tree, the herb garden.the title screamed in bold, gold-stamped letters.A few more minutes passed as I silently groped for inspiration.ices

nd

Stay calm, I told myself.Nothing.

I stared at my words until they began to blur into strange black shapes. A great opening line for a novel, I thought foolishly, grinning like an idiot and feeling oh-so-pleased with myself..

Audio

CD 1. Tr.6

The next five minutes passed in slow motion while I struggled to think of another line. I stared out my window for inspiration, but our overgrown backyard offered up nothing. I looked at the roof, the fence, the driveway, the old oak tree, the herb garden.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

My eyes came to rest on the writing book next to me on the desk. GET RICH QUICK! the title screamed in bold, gold-stamped letters. Write a Bestseller in Less Than a Year it

promised underneath the title in smaller type.

Less than a year? At this rate it would take a century... I sighed.

es

If I was really going to write a novel this summer, then I had to write a second sentence. And a third, and a fourth, and a thousandth. But it was hopeless as usual, I thought in my patented grumpy way.
A few more minutes passed as I silently groped for inspiration. A bushy-tailed squirrel raced across the under my window, momentarily giving me an idea, but as soon as it was gone, so was my idea.

"This isn't working," I said out loud. I pulled out the sheet of paper from my typewriter. I read the great opening line again, sighed again, and tore the paper into a million pieces. I fed another sheet of paper into the typewriter, trying to control my rapid breathing.

ices

nd

Stay calm, I told myself. It's going to be O.K. Panicking is for wimps.

els

10

11 The aroma of coffee began to drift into my room, which could only mean one thing. Dad was downstairs in the kitchen, preparing his signature breakfast dish: scrambled tofu with fig sauce.

you

ce?

Though all kids claim to have this problem, my parents are a true embarrassment to me.

12

13 Jackie! Grub's ready! Come on down!"

14 It was Dad, ready for breakfast at 9 A.M. on the dot, as usual. He always cooks precisely on the hour, whether it's lunch at 12 noon or dinner at 6 P.M. Mom says it's a ompulsion. I say it's insanity

Just a second!" I yelled down irritably

15 16 I glared in the direction of the stairs, as if Mom and Dad were standing on the landing with their wheat-germ muffins and scrambled tofu with fig sauce in hand. Their idea of eating breakfast together on Saturday mornings has always gotten on my nerves, but this summer it was bugging me extra good

Sighing again, I dragged my body down the stairs and into the kitchen, getting angrier with each step.

17

18 "You know, I've been thinking," I said as I took a seat at the table. "I may be outgrowing Saturday morning breakfasts. After all, I'll be in high school next fall. I think should reconsider its place in the family routine.

"Lighten up, Jackie,” Dad replied, stirring his coffee.

19

"Have a muffin." Though both my parents are committed

to "healthful eating," Dad has a severe weakness for coffee,

which he drinks black. I've never understood why he stirs it,

since he never adds anything.

Another compulsion, I guess.

20 I made a face as he passed me a plate of his infamous, deformed-looking, sawdust tasting wheat-germ muffins. I might as well have been performing for my goldfish, though, because Dad didn't look at me. I passed the plate back to him, muffins intact.