Chapter 6

MEET HOLDEN CAULFIELD

Mrs. Morris fries up some eggs and sausage for one of our incredibly early dinners, and I help by making dairy-free pancakes. We pretend we’re running a diner, serving up two Number Six Lumberjack Breakfast platters. I even class up the plates by adding some apple slices for a garnish.

“Verna—bus Table Eleven!” Mrs. Morris says when we’re finished eating.

“I’m on it, Trixie!” I load up the dishwasher and wipe down the table with a rag. Then, because I’m in a diner, I place the chairs upside down on the table and sweep the floor. While I’m at it, I mop. Why not?

“Well! The health inspector will be mighty glad to see this,” Mrs. Morris says, beaming at the shiny floor. It makes me happy to make her happy.

I head up to my room to start rereading The Catcher in the Rye for class. Ms. Olsson would probably freak out if I ever told her, but I never study for English. Instead, I just read all the books twice. The first time through, I read in a rush because I’m always dying to find out what happens and make sure everyone’s okay in the end. The second time around, I really get to enjoy the book, and I always notice new things.

When I walk through my bedroom door, I see that Holden Caulfield is sitting at my desk. Well, I’m just imagining him, but still. He’s watching me, and when I say, “Hi,” he says, “Hi. What are you doing in my room?”

That’s a little disconcerting, but when I look around, I notice the Pencey Prep pennant on the wall instead of my Nicki Minaj poster and the hardwood floors instead of the pink carpeting that runs throughout Mrs. Morris’s house. We are in his room!

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“How’s your sister, Phoebe?” I ask.

“She’s got the grippe, but I think she’ll be fine. How’s Mrs. Morris?”

I’m thrilled that he knows about Mrs. Morris! “She’s great!” I say, sitting down on the bed. “Well, more like okay. You know, her MS bothers her. It gives her the shakes sometimes. She has to use a walker, and sometimes a wheelchair. And her heart is a little jumpy.”

I bite my lip. I really hate talking about Mrs. Morris’s health. It freaks me out a little. “Hey—while I have you here—could you help me out with some homework?”

I make up something about “coming of age” and “loss of innocence” and scribble it in my notebook. I try to use vocabulary that Ms. Olsson likes. You know: ostracize and liberate and innocuous and blahdeblahblah.

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“Are you all right, Cuckoo?” Holden asks after a moment. “I’m worried.”

Holden has plenty of his own stuff to worry about—he doesn’t need to pile my problems on top of his. “Well, to tell the truth, Holden, I’m worried about you, too.”

Holden sucks in his breath, like I just tossed water on him. He sighs and rubs his hand over the million little short gray hairs on the side of his head. With soft eyes, he asks, “Will I be okay?”

I really want to say yes, but I just don’t know. It’s kind of hard to tell from the way the book ends. So instead I say, “I sure hope so, Holden. You’re one of my all-time favorite book characters.” I scoot to the edge of my bed and give him a light kiss on the cheek.

He smiles a little, but the sadness remains in his eyes. I reach for his hand, and we sit there for a while, not speaking. Finally, I open my (or I guess his) book and start reading, and when I look up, he’s gone.

I wonder if the ending of The Catcher in the Rye will be different this time. Whenever I reread something, especially if the ending is sad, I always kind of hope that there will be a new, perfectly happy ending on the last page.

For instance, I’m currently working on a new way to wrap up the Twilight books. I have to admit, I loved all of them. If that makes me so 2012, then so be it.