Sun & Spoon Read Online Free PDF

park. First he practiced free throws, and then he practiced his fancy dribbling, scissoring the ball back and forth between his legs. Since April, he had been trying to teach himself how to spin his basketball on one finger like a top, but he was a long way from perfecting this skill and so he only practiced it at home, in the basement, when no one else was around.
    Spoon’s father could do it expertly. Scott was able to get the ball twirling so fast Spoon could barely make out the seams. Charlie bragged that he could do it, too, although Spoon had never actually seen him, and therefore was suspicious. Whenever Spoon asked Charlie to prove it, Charlie responded with a lame excuse such as, “My finger’s sprained,” or “I’m not in the mood right now,” or “I’ve already done it twice today.” Nothing would have pleased Spoon more than to greet Charlie on his return from Evie’s by strolling in front of him with his basketball turning madly on his finger.
    Bored with dribbling, Spoon started taking long jump shots. After several misses, he touched the bulge in his pocket for good luck before he released the ball. He had sunk three baskets in a row when he decided not to press his luck.
    Sweat was dripping into Spoon’s eyes, and he felt sleepy. His arms and legs ached—from working at Pa’s, from playing basketball, from growing. He pulled off his T-shirt and wiped his face. Then he walked off the court and lay down in the grassy shade beneath a picnic table. He wrapped his wet T-shirt around his basketball and used it as a pillow. Soon he was sound asleep.
    Spoon dreamed. He and Charlie were playing double solitaire on the sloping lawn at Hillington Green. They were sitting cross-legged, facing each other, the cards between them on the grass. The sun was shifting haphazardly across the sky. One minute Spoon’s shadow was long and thin and pointing north, and the next minute it was merely a dark puddle under his knees. One minute the sun was before him and he had to shield his eyes, and the next minute he could feel the sun behind him, on his neck like a fiery spotlight.
    Joanie emerged out of nowhere. “Who’s winning?” she asked.
    â€œI am,” said Charlie.
    â€œYou are not,” said Spoon. “I am.”
    â€œSo what?” said Charlie. “I beat you at everything else. Cards is just luck. Everything else takes skill.”
    â€œLiar,” Spoon mumbled.
    Suddenly Joanie was gone, and Gram stood in her place. She was wearing her old familiar red gingham blouse, jeans, and Birkenstocks, and sipping orange soda with maraschino cherries from a tall, clear glass. “Make sure you drink enough on days like this,” she said. Her voice was muffled, as if she were speaking through folds of cloth. “How’s Pa?” she asked.
    Spoon looked to Charlie for an answer, and when he looked back, the sky had darkened and Gram had vanished.
    Spoon woke with a dry mouth. He could barely recall the dream’s details, and as each moment passed, more and more of the dream slipped away. But he clearly remembered seeing Gram, and so he shut his eyes to try to bring her back. Although it had no shape or weight, with his eyes closed he sensed her presence again.
    Cutting slowly across the green toward home, he thought: The cards are working.

8
    B EFORE HE FLOATED off to sleep that night, Spoon put the cards under his pillow. And early the next morning, Saturday morning, Spoon dreamed of Gram again. The entire family was seated around Gram and Pa’s dining-room table. Gram stood, serving soup from a large pot into mugs with a ladle. The level of the soup in the pot never changed. The ceiling had been lifted off the room, and the sky could be seen in its place. Except for a black egg-shaped cloud, the sky was china blue. Rain fell from the cloud far, far in the distance.
    Gram’s cheeks were full and round, her voice golden.