Midas Touch Read Online Free PDF

ran the length of the outer wall, just below the ceiling. When light struck the model, the kitchen glowed with rainbow hues.
    Although she finished the project several days before its due date, Sandra held off turning it in. Every day after school she would sit by the model and dream about someday living in this house. At the last possible hour, she carried the model to the home-making room and gently placed it among the other models.
    On her return after Christmas, Sandra found a note on her locker summoning her to report to Ms. Dysan, the student guidance counselor. This was not a new experience for her. The years of moving from school to school often left her reassuring some adult she was well-adjusted and doing fine. On more than one occasion, they moved so often her school records were lost at some distant location behind her.
    During her first and second grade years, she took numerous notes home to her dad requesting her birth certificate. He would read the notes and sigh. A few days later, Sandra would arrive

    home to find the trailer hitched to the old truck and they would move on to a new town.
    Sandra would have a few weeks of peace before the notes began again at the new location. By the third grade, her records were so jumbled no one cared anymore.
    Sandra’s heart raced when she entered the office and found Ms. Dysan was not alone. Ms. Angelo was there and Sandra’s model sat on Ms. Dysan’s desk. She experienced a sense of dread.
    There must be something wrong with her project.
    Ms. Dysan smiled and motioned to a chair in front of her desk. “Come in, Sandra. Have a seat. We want to talk to you about your project.”
    From her chair, Sandra studied the slightly overweight woman, whose short, curly hair framed a face suggesting a no-nonsense attitude.
    “Is something wrong?”
    “Quite the contrary,” Ms. Angelo assured her and gave Sandra a smile that set Sandra’s heart pounding. “I’d love to have a sitting room like this.”
    You can have it, Sandra’s heart pledged as Ms. Angelo’s fingertips caressed the top of the model. Sandra burned to have them touch her with such loving tenderness.
    Ms. Dysan stood and approached the model. “I’ve never seen such an original plan. What does your father do?”
    “My father?” She was having trouble concentrating with Ms.
    Angelo standing so close. Sandra could smell her perfume. She focused her attention on the floor to keep from staring at Ms.
    Angelo.
    “Yes,” Ms. Dysan said, walking around the table where the model sat. “The clever closets and the way these areas are separated, yet part of the room.” She pointed to the alcoves. “He must have put a lot of work into this.”
    Sandra raised her eyes to find both women watching her.
    They thought her father built her model. There was an instant stiffening of her back and her chin came up.
    “My father had nothing to do with it. I did the work myself.”

    “You did all of this by yourself?” Ms. Dysan asked. “No one helped even a little?” She persisted asa look passed between the two women.
    “I didn’t need anyone’s help,” Sandra answered coldly. Why was Ms. Angelo looking at Ms. Dysan asthough they shared a secret? They exchanged another glance as Ms. Dysan returned to her desk. Ms. Angelo moved to stand by her. Sandra wanted Ms.
    Angelo to stand closer to her, to move away from Ms. Dysan who doubted Sandra’s honesty.
    Ms. Angelo placed her hands in her jacket pockets and leaned onto Ms. Dysan’s desk. “How did you know to do this? You never asked me for any help.”
    “I just knew,” Sandra said and shrugged. How could she explain the finished product was already in her head? All she did was copy it onto the paper.
    Ms. Dysan rose and walked to Sandra, handing her a pencil and a pad. “Sandra, if I came to you and said, design me a four bedroom, two bath English Tudor, with a two car garage. How would you design it?”
    “Nancy,” Ms. Angelo said, so softly it hurt