Lucky Breaks Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Susan Patron
got her green card, so yeah.”
“Wow.” Paloma bounced a little bit on the bed. “So why do you really have that jar of worms?”
“Oh, I just hunted these off the tomato plants. They’re kind of a gift.”
Paloma burst out laughing again.
“What?” asked Lucky, a little concerned that Paloma was laughing at her.
“Um, a gift? Tomato worms?”
“For some chickens I know,” Lucky explained.
“I can’t decide which is weirder—tomato worms on tomorrow’s menu or giving tomato worms as a present to some chickens .” Lucky could see how it looked weird to Paloma, but cool-weird, not dumb-weird.
In a formal, professor-y voice, Paloma said, “My dear mineralogist, would you please pass that salad of highly prized worms, which, it has such a delicious French dressing.” She pretend-smoothed her shiny black hair, tilting up her chin.
Lucky wiped her lips with an imaginary napkin and held out the LUSCIOUS TOMATOES jar, with her little finger elegantly lifted as if she were a queen holding a teacup. “Certainly, my dear sedimentologist,” she said in a fake British-queen accent. “I was saving a few as a gift for some chickens I know, but I’d rather you have them. Chickens are so thoughtless about gifts, anyway.”
“How sad and how true,” Paloma murmured. She was pretty in a unique way, with a round mouth full of lots and lots of nicely even teeth. Her eyelashes, of course, were gorgeous, but her dark blue eyes drooped a little at the edges. If you put eyes like that on some other person, all you’d really notice would be their droopiness. But on Paloma’s face they made you suddenly wonder if eye shadow would make your own eyes look more like hers.
And, especially, you wanted to make Paloma laugh. Getting her to smile was easy because her mouth was the opposite of ordinary mouths, in that usually lips are relaxed when they’re closed and not doing anything. With Paloma, her lips were at rest when she was smiling; otherwise she had to sort of unsmile. It was practically the best and most interesting face Lucky had ever seen.
“What’s that an ad for?” Paloma asked, looking at a clipping from the back of a magazine that Lucky had tacked on her wall.
“Swimming lessons,” said Lucky.
“ Swimming lessons?” Paloma got off the bed and went to study the advertisement. It was a picture of a short-haired boy, about their age, sitting on a stool in front of a table. On the table was a big clear plastic bucket-sized container full of water, and the boy was leaning over it with his head turned to the side, one ear pointed down at the water. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his arms were windmilling around in the air like a swimmer doing the crawl stroke. At the bottom of the picture were the words,
LEARN TO SWIM AT HOME. ONLY $39.95 FOR 6 LESSONS .
Paloma frowned at the ad, glanced at Lucky, looked back at the ad, and burst out laughing.
Lucky positioned a pretend bucket of water on a pretend table in front of her. She stuck her face down into the pretendwater and made her arms flail all around. “Help, I’m drowning!” she said.
Paloma said in a stern voice, “You should have studied your lessons more carefully! You know you’re not supposed to go into the deep end yet!”
Lucky laughed so hard she made a loud bubble-popping snorkle noise in her throat, which caused Paloma to shriek. Tears ran down their faces.
“Thirty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents!” said Lucky, and collapsed onto the bed, clutching her stomach.
“Six lessons!” said Paloma, and pressed the edge of her T-shirt against her eyes. “But does that include”—her voice got higher as she squeezed out her words while at the same time being convulsed with laughter—“does that include the back-stroke?”
HMS Beagle wandered in from the kitchen and went politely over to smell Paloma.
Paloma held out her palm for the Beag to sniff. She gulped down deep breaths and got herself to stop laughing. “Hi,
“Wow.” Paloma bounced a little bit on the bed. “So why do you really have that jar of worms?”
“Oh, I just hunted these off the tomato plants. They’re kind of a gift.”
Paloma burst out laughing again.
“What?” asked Lucky, a little concerned that Paloma was laughing at her.
“Um, a gift? Tomato worms?”
“For some chickens I know,” Lucky explained.
“I can’t decide which is weirder—tomato worms on tomorrow’s menu or giving tomato worms as a present to some chickens .” Lucky could see how it looked weird to Paloma, but cool-weird, not dumb-weird.
In a formal, professor-y voice, Paloma said, “My dear mineralogist, would you please pass that salad of highly prized worms, which, it has such a delicious French dressing.” She pretend-smoothed her shiny black hair, tilting up her chin.
Lucky wiped her lips with an imaginary napkin and held out the LUSCIOUS TOMATOES jar, with her little finger elegantly lifted as if she were a queen holding a teacup. “Certainly, my dear sedimentologist,” she said in a fake British-queen accent. “I was saving a few as a gift for some chickens I know, but I’d rather you have them. Chickens are so thoughtless about gifts, anyway.”
“How sad and how true,” Paloma murmured. She was pretty in a unique way, with a round mouth full of lots and lots of nicely even teeth. Her eyelashes, of course, were gorgeous, but her dark blue eyes drooped a little at the edges. If you put eyes like that on some other person, all you’d really notice would be their droopiness. But on Paloma’s face they made you suddenly wonder if eye shadow would make your own eyes look more like hers.
And, especially, you wanted to make Paloma laugh. Getting her to smile was easy because her mouth was the opposite of ordinary mouths, in that usually lips are relaxed when they’re closed and not doing anything. With Paloma, her lips were at rest when she was smiling; otherwise she had to sort of unsmile. It was practically the best and most interesting face Lucky had ever seen.
“What’s that an ad for?” Paloma asked, looking at a clipping from the back of a magazine that Lucky had tacked on her wall.
“Swimming lessons,” said Lucky.
“ Swimming lessons?” Paloma got off the bed and went to study the advertisement. It was a picture of a short-haired boy, about their age, sitting on a stool in front of a table. On the table was a big clear plastic bucket-sized container full of water, and the boy was leaning over it with his head turned to the side, one ear pointed down at the water. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his arms were windmilling around in the air like a swimmer doing the crawl stroke. At the bottom of the picture were the words,
LEARN TO SWIM AT HOME. ONLY $39.95 FOR 6 LESSONS .
Paloma frowned at the ad, glanced at Lucky, looked back at the ad, and burst out laughing.
Lucky positioned a pretend bucket of water on a pretend table in front of her. She stuck her face down into the pretendwater and made her arms flail all around. “Help, I’m drowning!” she said.
Paloma said in a stern voice, “You should have studied your lessons more carefully! You know you’re not supposed to go into the deep end yet!”
Lucky laughed so hard she made a loud bubble-popping snorkle noise in her throat, which caused Paloma to shriek. Tears ran down their faces.
“Thirty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents!” said Lucky, and collapsed onto the bed, clutching her stomach.
“Six lessons!” said Paloma, and pressed the edge of her T-shirt against her eyes. “But does that include”—her voice got higher as she squeezed out her words while at the same time being convulsed with laughter—“does that include the back-stroke?”
HMS Beagle wandered in from the kitchen and went politely over to smell Paloma.
Paloma held out her palm for the Beag to sniff. She gulped down deep breaths and got herself to stop laughing. “Hi,
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