Sundays With Ingrid
“Where’s the Mongolian ribs?” Ty said, peering into the cardboard containers.
“They didn’t have them tonight,” Mom said. “I got the crispy duck instead.”
“What do you mean they didn’t have them?” Or something like that: hard to tell with Ty’s mouth stuffed full of egg roll, those delicious Ta Tung egg rolls, blackened at the ends.
“Eat what you’re given,” said Dad.
After that there were just chewing sounds, Ty’s dominating. Was he having another growth spurt? He seemed bigger than he was just last week, or even yesterday.
“Try the crispy duck,” Mom said, passing it around the table. “It’s really good.”
Dad helped himself and said, “Any results, kids?”
Results meant grades on quizzes, tests, exams or papers.
“Nope,” said Ty.
“Nope,” said Ingrid. Not strictly true, if you were counting today’s seventy-one on Ms. Groome’s math test, but a test wasn’t really a result, not if result meant final result, and weren’t final results what counted? Bottom line, walk the walk, just win, baby: wasn’t that the American way? Therefore bringing up this little matter of the seventy-one, one of those neither-here-nor-there grades that could only lead to lots of bothersome speculation, was almost un-American. Algebra, week after week, month after month, this dogged quest for X, bound to be fruitless, like all those other quests, Loch Ness monster, Holy Grail, origin of the – Whoa. Dad was eyeing her in a way that suggested some follow-up question might be next.
From Into the Dark.
Tags: Echo Falls Series
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