Read Lucky Breaks for Free Online Page A
Authors: Susan Patron
top and went down. No one else bothered with posts or street signs or addresses, because it was just as easy to give your visitor directions like, “Turn left at the ‘Slow: Children at Play’ sign” or “Go just past the cabin with four washing machines in the front yard,” and all the mail came to P.O. boxes at the post office. But Short Sammy said he liked having an actual address and wanted it to be visible on his teakettle post.
The driver pulled up and parked beside Sammy’s house, and all the Hard Panners who were busy with weeding and raking and rug shaking, plus the Captain in his observation tower and those waiting for the school bus, watched. The driver and the passenger, who wore T-shirts, jeans, and baseball caps, stood talking with Sammy a moment, and then they all grouped around the truck bed, leaning on their elbows to look in.
“They’re figuring out how to move the box,” Lincoln said. “Bet it’s heavy.”
Sammy gestured and pointed, and the driver jerked down the tailgate, which made a loud rusty shriek. The three men liftedout a flat wheeled cart and set it on the ground. Then they carefully angled and slid out the very large and heavy wooden box, positioned it on the cart, and rolled it to a spot at the side of Sammy’s front door. They heaved it off the cart and onto the ground.
After the truck left, instead of sitting outside on a lawn chair in the shade, where neighbors could stroll by and comment about the box in order to get him to tell them what was in it, Short Sammy went inside and pulled his door shut. Everyone knew this meant that he didn’t want visitors.
“What’s in Short Sammy’s box?” Miles asked.
Lucky thought about it. “No idea,” she said.
“I don’t like it,” Lincoln said. “It’s exactly the size and shape of a—” He stopped.
“Of a what?” Miles asked.
Lincoln looked at Miles and frowned. He said, “I think the bus is coming,” and as Miles turned to look, Lincoln gave Lucky a silent message, a tiny, quick shake of the head while flicking his eyes toward Miles. Lucky understood: He didn’t want to say whatever it was in Miles’s hearing. She nodded, agreeing not to discuss it then.
Miles was the first to board, greeting Sandi the bus driver enthusiastically. “Short Sammy got a big box delivered to him just now,” he told her.
“Back of the bus,” Sandi said, as she always did, checking her side-view mirror.
A moment later Lincoln boarded and walked backwardslowly down the long aisle to the very end of the bus, talking to Lucky in a low voice. “I hate to even say it. It’s very sad,” he said.
Lucky hadn’t found anything sad about the big wooden box. “Why sad?” she asked.
“Lucky, when you look at the size and shape of that box and how heavy it was, there’s only one thing it can be!”
“Well, what?” Lucky said.
Lincoln stopped walking and leaned toward her, whispering. “The only thing it can be is a…No, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Hurry up and take your seats!” Sandi yelled.
“Lincoln! What?”
“No, I’m sure I’m wrong. Let’s forget it. Short Sammy will tell us if he wants us to know.” Lincoln swung into the nearest seat, moving over to the window. Lucky kept walking, touching the seat backs on either side of the aisle for balance. She’d suddenly realized what Lincoln had been thinking. He’d concluded that the box was a casket.
She felt her heart beating as if it were trying to escape from her chest.
Short Sammy was going to die.
9. s’mores
Some of the things Brigitte tried and practiced and wished for, in her goal of getting her American citizenship and becoming a “real” Californian, seemed strange to Lucky. But Brigitte’s efforts and struggles made Lucky (and a lot of other people in Hard Pan) realize that, just by being born here, they were experts on California-ness and American-ness. And advising Brigitte could be pretty fun. Her campaign got a lot of momentum when she
The driver pulled up and parked beside Sammy’s house, and all the Hard Panners who were busy with weeding and raking and rug shaking, plus the Captain in his observation tower and those waiting for the school bus, watched. The driver and the passenger, who wore T-shirts, jeans, and baseball caps, stood talking with Sammy a moment, and then they all grouped around the truck bed, leaning on their elbows to look in.
“They’re figuring out how to move the box,” Lincoln said. “Bet it’s heavy.”
Sammy gestured and pointed, and the driver jerked down the tailgate, which made a loud rusty shriek. The three men liftedout a flat wheeled cart and set it on the ground. Then they carefully angled and slid out the very large and heavy wooden box, positioned it on the cart, and rolled it to a spot at the side of Sammy’s front door. They heaved it off the cart and onto the ground.
After the truck left, instead of sitting outside on a lawn chair in the shade, where neighbors could stroll by and comment about the box in order to get him to tell them what was in it, Short Sammy went inside and pulled his door shut. Everyone knew this meant that he didn’t want visitors.
“What’s in Short Sammy’s box?” Miles asked.
Lucky thought about it. “No idea,” she said.
“I don’t like it,” Lincoln said. “It’s exactly the size and shape of a—” He stopped.
“Of a what?” Miles asked.
Lincoln looked at Miles and frowned. He said, “I think the bus is coming,” and as Miles turned to look, Lincoln gave Lucky a silent message, a tiny, quick shake of the head while flicking his eyes toward Miles. Lucky understood: He didn’t want to say whatever it was in Miles’s hearing. She nodded, agreeing not to discuss it then.
Miles was the first to board, greeting Sandi the bus driver enthusiastically. “Short Sammy got a big box delivered to him just now,” he told her.
“Back of the bus,” Sandi said, as she always did, checking her side-view mirror.
A moment later Lincoln boarded and walked backwardslowly down the long aisle to the very end of the bus, talking to Lucky in a low voice. “I hate to even say it. It’s very sad,” he said.
Lucky hadn’t found anything sad about the big wooden box. “Why sad?” she asked.
“Lucky, when you look at the size and shape of that box and how heavy it was, there’s only one thing it can be!”
“Well, what?” Lucky said.
Lincoln stopped walking and leaned toward her, whispering. “The only thing it can be is a…No, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Hurry up and take your seats!” Sandi yelled.
“Lincoln! What?”
“No, I’m sure I’m wrong. Let’s forget it. Short Sammy will tell us if he wants us to know.” Lincoln swung into the nearest seat, moving over to the window. Lucky kept walking, touching the seat backs on either side of the aisle for balance. She’d suddenly realized what Lincoln had been thinking. He’d concluded that the box was a casket.
She felt her heart beating as if it were trying to escape from her chest.
Short Sammy was going to die.
9. s’mores
Some of the things Brigitte tried and practiced and wished for, in her goal of getting her American citizenship and becoming a “real” Californian, seemed strange to Lucky. But Brigitte’s efforts and struggles made Lucky (and a lot of other people in Hard Pan) realize that, just by being born here, they were experts on California-ness and American-ness. And advising Brigitte could be pretty fun. Her campaign got a lot of momentum when she