Lightning Rider Read Online Free PDF Page A

that doesn’t mean I want a repeat. Even inside Papi’s house, I’m not thrilled about the inevitable pain.
    He lets the storm door fall shut but leaves the inner door against the wall, bathing the kitchen in mottled pre-storm light.
    “Back in a few.” 
    After he ruffles Bimni’s ears, she comes over to say hi to me. She licks my hand, but her eyes never leave Papi as he crosses the kitchen and heads toward the carport door. He tells her to stay, and she whines.
    “It’s okay.” I drop my hand to her neck. When she’s sure he’s not coming back, she pads to her bed, circles twice, and lies down.
    When the rumble of his diesel fades from the carport, I scoot closer to the box and slide it away from the wall. Both flaps pop open easily, and I peer inside. A thick book fills the lower third of the box, but that’s all. The leather cover is worn to a smooth tan color along the edges, stained and dark brown along the spine where who-knows-how-many palms have held it. I glance over my shoulder, then dip my hands into the box and ease it out. My fingers barely wrap around it, and I have to prop my knee on the stool for leverage. It’s the same size as the scrapbooks Mami made but thicker. After I get my fingers under it, the box bows enough for me to wrestle it out. As I do, a wooden coin slips off the cover and into the box. 
    Beneath my hand, the leather is smooth and cool, except for the tooling in the top corner. Diamonds and crisscrossed lines mingle from the spine to the front edge, and they feel warm against my skin. I peer closer.
    Hmm. A maze. 
    I sniff. Instead of smelling like musty paper and leather, it smells like vanilla. 
    From this angle, I can barely make out the lettering in the lower middle. Rivera is on there in gothic scroll, which kind of makes sense if this was my grandfather’s, but something smaller is printed below it. I pick up the book and tilt it backward and forward. A bright ray of sun breaks through the storm clouds and illuminates the cover.
    Lightning Rider.
    I drop the book and the loud thump echoes my pounding heart.
    What the what?
    I flick my fingertips with my thumbs. The lightning, the old woman in my vision who called me rider, and now this—that’s a few too many coincidences.
    I clench my hands and relax them, then clench them again. I peer at the book, waiting for it to . . . well, do something.
    Bimni snores, and I jump.
    “Gah!” I shake out my arms. “Stop being such a girl.”
    I take a deep breath and dive at it, flipping the cover open. Jumbled bits of scrawled writing line the pages, but I can’t make it out. I lean forward and lift the parched paper. The next page looks the same. I can tell it’s in Spanish, but it’s not exactly legible. So much for finding out anything while Papi’s gone.
    A few pages in, the handwriting changes, then changes again, like the book’s been passed down and holds generations of stories.
    I rub my hands together and wonder how someone becomes a lightning rider. Whatever it is, it sounds cool.
    Behind me, the ping of Papi’s engine warns me, and I close the book and lower it back into the box on top of the coin.
    When he comes in, I’m drumming my fingers on the counter and the box is back against the wall.
    Pausing on the top step, he twists his head so he’s staring me down with only one eye. I raise my eyebrows and lock down every other muscle. “What?”
    He sets the grease-stained bag on the counter and grabs plates. “How’s your ankle?”
    “Still sore.” The absurdity of our conversation makes me want to laugh and scream at the same time.
    We load our plates and push food around. I force myself not to scoot farther away from the box. If he doesn’t tear into it soon, I’m going to freak out. Finally, he sets his fork down and stares at the box.
    “You going to open it?”
    He runs a hand through his short silver hair. “Yeah.”
    He stands and slips his plate beneath mine, and I shove both to the end