The Great Good Summer Read Online Free PDF Page A

English papers, and if you don’t follow it, you flunk straight out, no matter who you pray to.”
    I close my eyes and feel hot dots of sun, filtered through the leaves of the giant cedar elm, prick the skin on my face. My head starts to spin a little, and I realize I wasn’t fibbing. I really don’t feel well at all.
    â€œOkay,” I say as I open my eyes back up gently. “I’m sorry you’re angry about the rules in both church and school, but I’ve got a headache, and I am not in the mood for a lecture. And by the way, I think Pastor Lou’s God is the same God who looks after all of us.”
    I know it’s a little hypocritical for me to be defending Pastor Lou right now, but the way Paul talks, it’s like he knows better than all of us, including God. Which is what Daddy would call “high-and-mighty.”
    â€œAnyway,” I say, “if you’re so sure we’re going straight to hell for sitting out back during service, what are you doing here instead of siting inside with your family in the front few rows?”
    â€œNope, you’ve got it wrong. I don’t think we’re going to hell. I’m just saying Pastor Lou will think we’re going to hell. Here’s a little news flash, Ivy. There is no hell, unless you count Loomer, Texas, in the summertime. And there’s no heaven unless you mean the one Neil Armstrong and the boys got to fly through on their way to the moon. You can sit out here and try to get your prayers heard if you want, but I’m just killing time and looking for contrails.”
    I glance at Paul again. He’s leaning back on his elbows, shirtsleeves rolled up, head tilted toward the sky.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I don’t see a thing up there, not a cricket or a crow. Maybe God’s hiding the contrails from you since you basically just said he doesn’t exist, which I’m pretty sure is sacrilegious, especially if you’re on church property when you say it.”
    â€œDo y’know,” says Paul, “that later this summer, one of the space shuttles is gonna fly over Loomer? We’ll probably be able to see it from right here on these steps if we want to.”
    Paul can apparently change subjects just as quick as Daddy.
    â€œThe real space shuttle? Doesn’t the space shuttle goup? Into space? Why would anyone fly a rocket ship over Loomer?”
    And here’s where I should be getting the nervous willies, because church will be letting out soon and I am gonna have to explain myself. And explaining may well entail lying, which isn’t exactly recommended at Second Baptist. Plus, I seem to be stuck in the middle of a conversation with one of the top eggheads in school, and no good can come of that, that’s for sure.
    I close my eyes and feel the sun prick my skin again.
    â€œWell, first off, y’know it’s not a rocket ship, right?” says Paul.
    My eyes slide back open, and I turn to look at him. Here we go with the science.
    â€œIt’s a spacecraft,” he says. “And there’s actually more than one of them, even though we call them all ‘the space shuttle.’” Paul does finger quotes around the words “the space shuttle” as he speaks.
    â€œBut, yeah. Other than that, you’re right. It should be going up to where it’s built to go—space. Instead, the politicians have decided that we’re done with all that, no more space shuttle. Before most of us even got a chance to be a part of the whole deal. So they’re strapping one of ’em onto an airplane and flying it to Los Angeles andputtin’ it up in a museum forever and ever. Amen, as y’all would say.”
    â€œOh. Well, that’s too bad,” I answer, because I hear an ache in Paul’s voice that makes me feel a little sorry, even though I’m not totally sure why. When I turn