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The London P & I Club Rules 2019-2020

Year: 2019
Language: english
Author: The London P & I Club
Genre: Convention (rules)
Format: PDF
Quality: eBook
Pages count: 292
Description: This download contains Association’s P&I (Class 5) Rules (including Clauses to which reference may be made in Certificates of Entry), together with the FD&D (Class 8) and War Risks (Class 7) Rules. along with the List of Correspondents of London P & I Club.

Notice from: virtual[translate]

New Edition here
The London P and I Club Rules 2020/2021 - P&I, FD&D.Club [2020, PDF]

On Wednesday morning the minivan is gone from the driveway next door, so I busy myself collecting words and phrases for Jason in the blank spaces of my sketchbook. Words from commercials, conversations, and books run between my doodles and across the backs of my drawings. The driveway remains empty until after dark.

An hour before OT on Thursday, I lay my sketchbook open on my desk and flip the pages, hunting for the right words and phrases to put on Jason’s cards.

Why not?

He already has “why,” but “why not” is pushier — like “why” with a fist on its hip.

Out my window I see the minivan still parked next door. Why not? Because Mom’s calling clients and Dad’s at work so David’s my responsibility — that’s why.

“Just for an hour,” Mom said, “until we have to leave for OT. I’ve put on a Thomas the Tank Engine video so he shouldn’t be any trouble.”

I pull forward two blank cards and scrawl:

Yeah, right.

Whatever.

I know she needs me to babysit sometimes, but I hate when she tells me he shouldn’t be any trouble. Trouble comes quick with David, and “should” doesn’t have anything to do with it. He should remember to flush the toilet, too, but that doesn’t mean it happens.

When Mom had gone, I took my long mirror off my door and propped it at an angle against one corner of the living room, so I could work at my desk and still see David reflected in the mirror.

Every few words I make, I glance out my bedroom doorway to the mirror. David stands at the TV, the remote in his hand. He loves rewinding the trains backward up the tracks and speeding them ahead to almost crashing, over and over.

I turn another sketchbook page and choose among the words written along the edge.
Sure. You bet! Excellent! Perfect. Frustrating. Pretty
. and
Dazzling!
to jazz up and stretch the words Jason has in bigger directions, and
Joke.
so he can be sarcastic if he wants.

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I peek toward the mirror. The TV train steams ahead, billowing smoke, toward the shed. “Watch out!” David repeats, a perfect imitation of the narrator’s voice.

But at the last second possible before the smash, David hits
PAUSE
. Jumping in front of the frozen TV picture, he waves the remote in circles, like it’s a magic wand.

Watch Out!!!

On the next page is my half-finished portrait of Jason. I pick up a pencil and add the details I couldn’t add in the waiting room: eyelashes, thick eyebrows, and the outline of his thin lips. Part of me wishes I could tear this picture out of my sketchbook and crumple it into a tight ball so I don’t hear his mother’s scolding in my head when I see it, but the rest of me is bothered that it’s —

Incomplete.
Too much like a
Secret.

“Are you busy?” a girl’s voice asks.

I drop my pencil and flash a look from my unmade bed to the folded clothes piled on my bureau. Cinnamon and Nutmeg crane their necks to
wheek
at Mom and the girl from next door standing in my doorway.

“I saw Kristi coming up the walk,” Mom says, smiling. “Catherine, I have one more call to make. Could you keep an eye on David for a few more minutes? Then I’ll take over, I promise.”

Before I can get out “no,” I see Mom’s legs in the mirror, hurrying back toward her office. David pushes
REWIND
, and Thomas speeds backward again.

“Come in!” I offer my chair, but Kristi sits on the edge of my desk, crossing her feet at the ankles.

“Are you busy?” she asks.

“No!” Seeing her up close, I know Kristi will be popular. Not only for her straight brown hair, parted off-center, shining down to her elbows. Or because she looks just right, even wearing frayed jean shorts and a T-shirt. Kristi radiates “cool,” and I know it as sure as I know David’ll stop that speeding train at the last-last second.

Part of me feels sorry, because she doesn’t look like a flashlights-and-Morse-code kid, but the other part of me is excited.

“I’m glad Mrs. Bowman sold you her house,” I say. “Well, I guess, technically,
the realtor
sold it, but I’m glad your family bought it, because I’ve always thought it would be great if a kid lived next door. Mrs. Bowman was nice, but she was really, really old.” I clamp my teeth together to keep anything else dumb from escaping my mouth.

Kristi drags a strand of her hair between her fingers. “I’m glad, too. I was scared I’d have to start school next year without knowing
anyone
.”

My lips spread to a smile imagining Melissa’s surprise as I introduce Kristi into our group. “This is my friend Kristi,” I’ll say. “We hung out together all summer.”

I glance out my doorway to the living room. Epson tm-u220 driver for windows 7 64bit. Where’s David?

“Ryan said there’s a bus stop at the end of the street?”

I lick my bottom lip to keep from grimacing. “At the corner.”

“That’s great.” Kristi continues to twist her strand of hair. “I used to walk three blocks to catch the bus — even when it was freezing or raining. Mom’d say, ‘Take the umbrella,’ as though anyone carries an umbrella!”

David insists on bringing his bright red umbrella to school even when it’s only cloudy. “My mom’s like that, too.”

Leaving out isn’t the same as lying.

“She always says, ‘Well, at least wear your hood!’” I continue, “Like I’d want hood hair.”

Kristi smiles, letting the twisted strand fall back to her arm. “Ryan said he lets kids wait in his house when it’s raining, since he can see the bus come from there.”

But only if you’re invited. I peek out the doorway into the empty living room. Part of me would like to tell Kristi the truth, but I don’t want our conversation to become about David.

At the bus stop I always tell him, “You have your umbrella,” grabbing the back of his jacket to keep him from following Ryan’s friends up the steps. “Going inside is for kids without umbrellas.” I would be honest, but David doesn’t understand invited and not invited. He thinks everything is for everyone.

“Ryan’s nice,” Kristi says. “Don’t you think so?”

Nice as a cockroach. “Want some sherbet?” I ask.

When you want to get out of answering something, distract the questioner with another question.

“What kind?” Kristi asks.

“Raspberry.”

David rushes through my doorway, his eyes wide with panic, an audiocassette in his hand. “Fix it?”

The tape has pulled out of the cassette, hanging in a long, delicate loop.

At first I’m relieved that’s all that’s wrong until my guinea pigs start to squeal.

With the cassette over one ear, and his hand shielding the other, David yells, “Quiet, pigs!”

Kristi shoots a worried glance from David to the guinea pigs to me.

I pry the cassette from David’s fingers, knowing it’ll be faster to deal with the tape than the tears filling his eyes. “Don’t worry. This’ll only take a minute.”

I spin the cassette around and around on my finger, wishing I had two more hands: one to give the guinea pigs hay to quiet them, another to cover David’s mouth as he shrieks. I spin the cassette so fast my finger keeps slipping out of the tiny hole.

When the tape lies flat and tight, I slide
Frog and Toad Together
into my cassette player and push
PLAY
. Arnold Lobel’s deep voice joins the guinea pig squeals, and David’s face lights up like Christmas morning, Halloween night, and his birthday, all rolled into one big grin. “You fixed it!”

“Go find Mom,” I say, pressing the cassette into his hand, “and tell her I’m done babysitting.” Before I close the door, I peek into the living room to be sure David’s heading toward Mom’s office. He disappears down the hallway, swinging his arms.

“That must be hard,” Kristi says. “Even regular little brothers are a pain.”

“Regular” snarls in my stomach. I grab my sticky notes and write “DAD! Buy a new tape player!” and stick it on the back of my door to remember to tell him — again.

To quiet my guinea pigs, I pull strings of timothy hay from the little bale I keep under the cage. Nutmeg yips as Cinnamon steals her hay.

“They’re so cute,” Kristi says. “Can I hold them?”

“Sure.” I toss her a towel. “Better put that on your lap, in case they pee.” I slide one hand under Nutmeg’s chest and cup her back legs with my other.

Cinnamon
wheeks
until I set her next to Nutmeg on Kristi’s lap, and the squealing turns to happy-pig cooing:

Nutmeg, I thought I’d never see you again! Say, what are you eating?

Towel, medium rare, with a hint of fabric softener. Care for a bite?

Don’t mind if I do!

My door bursts open. “No toys in the fish tank,” David announces.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Kristi between my clenched teeth.

“No problem,” she says, stroking Nutmeg’s neck.

I close my door behind me so Kristi won’t see me run. “Why?” I sprint ahead of David. “Why today?”

“Because.”

A tiny cowboy stands bowlegged on the gravel at the bottom of the fish tank, one hand poised to grab his pistol, the other holding the end of a lasso hovering in a loop above his head. A goldfish swims right through the hole.

Git back here, ya pesky varmint!

Plunging my hand into the water, fish swoosh past my fingers. I rescue the cowboy and throw him into the toy box. Grabbing David’s wrist, I don’t even wipe my hand first.

“Wet!” David twists to get away.

“You’re not going to ruin this for me.” I yank him along behind me down the hallway to Mom’s office.

She’s on the phone. “All right, then,” Mom says into the receiver. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you next week.”

“I have company,” I say, not caring about interrupting her, “and you need to watch David.”

Mom holds up one finger for me to wait, but I push David ahead of me into the room. A7 plus digital player user manual. Her eyebrows come down.

She grabs a puzzle off her bookshelf and dumps the pieces on the floor. “Yes, that’ll be fine,” she says into the phone.

David sits beside the hill of pieces. He can’t stand to see puzzles undone, but he insists on doing the pieces in lines, like he’s reading the puzzle. He doesn’t look for all the red barn pieces or the daisies in the field or the glimmers of sunlit water. Left to right, top to bottom, that’s his puzzle rule. And if you add a piece out of David’s order, he’ll take it back out — even if it fits.

I slam Mom’s office door on my way out.

When I come back to my room, breathless from running down the hallway, I notice Nutmeg and Cinnamon are in their cage again.

“Everything okay?” Kristi asks. “I hope you don’t mind that I looked at this.”

She’s holding my sketchbook, open to the half-finished portrait of Jason. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No! Just a boy I started drawing.”

Kristi tilts her head in an oooh-really? look.

If you want someone to think something’s not important, use “just” a lot.

“He’s just a boy I know from — well, I don’t really know him. Not very well. I just see him at —” I check my watch. It’s almost time to leave for OT.

I can’t tell Kristi I have to go — not the first time we’ve met. But I told Jason I’d see him today.

Kristi tosses my sketchbook onto my desk. My hands itch to flip the page, but that’ll bring attention to it.

“Want to watch TV?” Kristi asks.

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If I say no, maybe I won’t get another chance to hang out with her. I glance to Thomas the Tank Engine reflected in my mirror, his eyes closed, braced for a crash that’ll never happen. From somewhere, David shrieks.

Acano app for mac. “We could watch at my house,” Kristi says.

That stings, even if I agree. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll tell my mom.”

All the way up Kristi’s walkway, I want to skip or run or twirl with my arms out, like a six-year-old. It feels deliciously easy to be visiting a friend’s house without having to say first, “Sorry, David, this is for me. You can’t come.”

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Hearing Mom’s car back out of the driveway, I turn to wave. She waves, but David sits alone in the backseat, hunched down, his hands over his ears.

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I follow Kristi up the steps and through her front door.