Lost in the Sun Read Online Free PDF

coffee and an orange juice?” he asked me.
    â€œThanks.”
    Weekend mornings, I was in charge of grabbing the doughnutsand prepping Mom’s coffee while she waited in the car. She claimed that before she got caffeine in her, she only had enough energy to drive to the doughnut house, nothing else. Anyway, I didn’t mind. I liked prepping the coffee. Mom always said I did it exactly right—half a sugar packet and just enough cream that it
sploosh
ed up to the top while you were pouring. Two quick stirs and it was perfect.
    â€œMy favorite child,” Mom gushed as I plopped into the car. (That was what she called any of us kids who handed her a cup of coffee.) She held the cup close to her face and took a giant whiff before bringing it to her lips.
    â€œYou know, Doug and Aaron and I
bought
you a coffeemaker for Christmas,” I reminded her.
    She took another long sip of coffee. You could practically see it surging through her body, filling her with happiness. “Not nearly as good,” she told me. She took one more sip, then set the cup in the cup holder and shifted the car into reverse.
    â€œCan we return the coffeemaker to buy video games?” I asked as Mom slowly backed out of the parking spot.
    She laughed. “We’ll talk about it.”
    Ray was surprised about the doughnut. “Oh, wow, thanks,” he said when I handed him the bag. He rubbed the top of his bald head, which was a habit of his. “I love glazed twists.”
    â€œIt was Trent’s idea,” Mom said from the stockroom across the store as she locked her purse in the filing cabinet. “He said it seemed like you were getting jealous.”
    â€œWell, thanks, buddy,” Ray told me. “I appreciate it.”
    I didn’t know why Mom said that, about the doughnut being my idea. But sometimes moms were weird.
    I’d been working with Mom at Kitch’N’Thingz since last March, and the truth was it wasn’t the worst way to spend a weekend, even if four dollars an hour was definitely
not
minimum wage (apparently Mom and Ray didn’t care too much about child labor laws). I enjoyed the cash, anyway, and Ray was probably the best boss you could hope for, even if he never did answer my comment in the comment box about correcting the spelling of the store name. Mom had offered Aaron and Doug jobs, too, but Aaron was busy lifeguarding, and Doug always seemed to have better places to be. Girly new friends to ride bikes with and bake cookies with and play Monopoly with. He didn’t have time for practically-slave-labor.
    The only downside to working at Kitch’N’Thingz was that the movie theater was directly across the street, so sometimes Jeremiah Jacobson and his buddies would come into the shop after movies let out and scarf down all the pretzel sticks that Mom and I put out every morning to sample the artisanal jams and mustards. (For the record, if I ever turn into somebody who spends a trillion dollars on a jar of
artisanal mustard,
I hope someone has the good sense to knee me in the groin and throw me into a ditch.) When Jeremiah and his friends came in, I usually found something that needed restocking, and I usually didn’t find it in the storeroom until I heard Mom tell them, “All right, boys, you know the rule. Two samples per customer,” and they all left.
    That Saturday, the second-to-last day before sixth grade started, was shaping up to be a good one. It was still plenty warm, but therewas a breeze, if you were feeling for it. And Mom was in a good mood, too, which was only surprising because I figured Dad would’ve called her to rat me out for my “behavior” at the diner the night before. But either he decided not to or she decided she didn’t care, because she hadn’t said anything about it, and I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. When the game came on at one o’clock, Ray let us put on the radio that he hid