Lightning Rider Read Online Free PDF

of the counter and mop up the grease with a tiny brown paper napkin. With my head bent, I catch him shoving his hands in his back pockets, still afraid of what he’s going to find.
    Since I already know what’s in there, I find his reaction . . . curious.
    “Want me to do it?” I slide my hand across the counter.
    He bats it away. “No.”
    With both hands on the box, he tugs it away from the wall, throws open the flaps, and braces his hands flat on the counter before peering into the depths.
    He doesn’t flinch. Then his face falls, as if he was hoping for something different. He tugs the book out, none too gently, freeing a collection of smaller booklets that were tucked between the pages. He sets the book on top of them without looking at any of it before going back for the coin and placing it next to the book. Then he tips the box on its end, as if hoping to reveal a false bottom.
    Curious didn’t come close.
    He sighs and lets the box tip back down.
    I curl my fingers around the edges of my stool and squeeze, silently begging him to open the book. Or the booklets. Or examine the coin. Any of it.
    He brushes his fingers across the cover. “This can’t be his.”
    “Are you sure?” Chill out .
    With a wistful shake of his head, he taps the edge of the coin against the counter.
    “How’d he die again?” I release my grip on the stool and stretch toward the book.
    “Lightning,” he answers softly.
    I freeze. Cold electricity spreads through my stomach. The three bites of Chinese feel like sour lumps.
    Coincidences no longer exist.
    “What if it is?” I whisper.
    He looks up, and horror and pain mingle on his face. “What?”
    “What if it is your father’s?”
    “You didn’t know him. Hell, I barely did. This isn’t his.”
    “Read it.” I tip my chin toward the journal.
    He tosses the coin, and I catch it without breaking eye contact. “I’m telling you . . .”
    With a huff, he pulls the book closer and flips it open. A drawing covers the first page.
    I roll the coin over and examine the back.
    A similar etched design to that on the page covers the coin. A curved diamond reaches toward the edges, a sharp point on the bottom tip, perfect circles on the other three, and some sort of maze weaving through the middle. Bolts of lightning stretch outward from the silvery orbs.
    We lift our heads at the same moment.
    “I’ve seen this before.”
    “This looks like my top.”
    “What?” we ask in unison.
    “This design,” I say. “It looks like my top. The one grandma gave me.”
    “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Grandma Reese have something like that on a shirt?”
    “Not a shirt top, a toy top. And it wasn’t Grandma Reese. Abuelita Rosa gave it to me. Your mom.”
    Now it’s his turn to freeze up. “Do you still have it?” he asks, his voice a mere croak.
    “Should be in the box Mr. Steinaman dropped off.” I ease my foot off the stool. “I never showed it to Nick.”
    Throbbing rings of pain envelop my ankle, but I make it to my room without a mishap. I find the tin and take a quick second to change out of my work clothes and into some of my sister Tiana’s comfies—a black T-shirt with a sparkling pink Jolly Roger over gray sweats and rhinestone-encrusted flip-flops. The girl has nothing resembling leather.
    I hurry back, and while I’ve been gone, Papi’s found an old bottle of tequila and two glasses. If this situation doesn’t qualify for a drink, I don’t know what does.
    The caramel liquid splashes as he fills a short tumbler. While I settle onto my stool, he throws back the first shot and thumps his chest. His eyes water.
    “Been a while?” I scoot my glass toward him and he fills us both. We clink glasses and shoot. I lick my lips. It hasn’t been long since I’ve had a drink, but it has been too long since I’ve had the good stuff. He tucks the bottle on the floor next to his stool and the box.
    I hand him my small red and white tin, and he pops it