A Bird On Water Street Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Coote’s mama was pregnant when his daddy was killed in it. She took to drinking and Coote came out a little funny. The insurance money didn’t matter then.”
    I frowned and promised myself I wouldn’t make fun of Coote anymore.
    We stopped at the gas station on the way home. Mom was just pulling up to the full service side as usual when none other than Eli Munroe came rushin’ out in greasy overalls with Mr. Habersham right on his heels snapping a gray towel like a whip. “And don’t you ever come back, you stupid kid!”
    Eli jumped into his worn-out Jeep and peeled out of the lot, glancing at me with a scowl as he veered into traffic. Several cars swerved to avoid being hit.
    “Sorry you had to see that, Mrs. Hicks. Kid was smoking a cigarette right next to an oil drum. ’Bout blew us up. He’s as sharp as a butter knife, that one.” Mr. Habersham rubbed the dirty rag over his red face, which didn’t help matters. “Fill you up?”
    “Regular, please,” Mom said and handed him her Exxon card.
    “Why isn’t he in school?” I wondered out loud.
    “Didn’t he graduate last year?” Mom asked.
    “No, he’s supposed to be a senior,” I said.
    She shook her head. “Shame.”
    At home, I placed the cast next to my baseball trophies on the shelf under my bedroom window. In a way, it was a trophy too. I smiled at all the signatures. They were so different. Some were loopy, some were scratchy. Sonny Rust, the Company manager’s son, had drawn a smiley face like John Hancock’s big signature on the Declaration of Independence. He was always trying too hard to fit in. At least the smiley face was on the underside where it wasn’t starin’ at me.
    I changed my clothes, putting on a fresh pair of jeans and a plaid flannel shirt from the bureau, since the ones I’d had on were covered with plaster dust. It was so nice to pull my shirt on without a cast. I wiggled my fingers as they poked out the end of my sleeve. Then I leaned over and tied up my new sneakers.
    Piran will be jealous. I frowned. I wished I could buy him a pair too.
    Piran didn’t get new things very often and when he did it was usually something “practical.” His family wasn’t poor or anything, but the postmaster’s job didn’t pay nearly as good as mining, so money had to stretch in their house.
    “Jack, dinner,” Mom called from the kitchen. “I made your favorite, macaroni and cheese.”
    “Let’s see that arm,” Dad said as I ran into the kitchen.
    I held it out for him to inspect. “It looks kinda puny.”
    “Don’t worry. You’ll build it back up in no time.”
    “We saw that Munroe boy at the gas station today,” Mom said as she set a large dish of yellow globby goodness on the table. “Mr. Habersham fired him for smokin’ near an oil drum.”
    “I’m not surprised,” Dad said. “He applied for a job at the mine last week, but that boy is about as bright as a coon oil lantern on a foggy day. He wouldn’t last a week underground.”
    Dad got quiet and cleared his throat. It seemed that everything reminded him of Amon, which turned his mood to dark clouds as quick as spit. He reached for the serving spoon and plopped two huge helpings of macaroni and cheese onto his plate like he was angry at it.
    Save some for me , I worried.
    “Jack, do you know you’ll be a seventh generation copper miner?” he said.
    Of course I knew. Like most of our neighbors, we even hung the flag of Cornwall, England, below our American flag—black with a white cross representing the tin that ran through the ground there.
    “And there’s no telling how long our family was mining tin in England before we came to America,” he continued.
    “Ray, stop,” Mom whispered. “Not during dinner.”
    “What about Uncle Amon?” I gulped.
    “He weren’t a miner,” he mumbled and the muscles in his face sank like melting snow. “He never should have been down there to begin with. Mama didn’t want him to… It’s why I wouldn’t