The Junction of Sunshine and Lucky Read Online Free PDF

what everybody says. So glamorous, anyone could tell just by looking at her that she’d spent years floating around on one of those inflatable mats in a movie star’s swimming pool, sipping big drinks full of umbrellas, smiling her enormous smile.
    I’m still sitting on the curb, staring at my unfinished letter, when a pair of black-and-white high-tops stops on the sidewalk in front of me.
    When I turn my eyes up, they land on the face of the Reverend Charles V. Taylor.
    â€œHello, Auggie,” he says, seeming honestly happy to see me.
    â€œReverend,” I say, forcing a smile and nodding once.
    â€œI thought you and I were on a first-name basis,” Chuck complains.
    I have to admit, it really is a pretty formal thing to call a minister. Most other churches around call their ministers “pastor” or “brother.” But I always figured it kind of showed how much we all respect Chuck—even if he does always wear sneakers to church.
    He tilts his head, says, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the wishing spot without Lexie.”
    I hug my notebook to my chest, as though I can cover the wound inside my heart. What I really wish is that friendship didn’t have to be so slippery, so hard to keep hold of.
    Chuck squints at me a good long while, like he’s thinking something over, as Mom’s billboard looms behind his shoulder. He follows my gaze, up toward her old picture. “She was my best friend, you know. And I sure do miss her, now that she’s gone.”
    â€œSeems like there’s one person who does the leaving, and one person who does the missing,” I blurt.
    He lets the tiniest hint of a grin crack into the side of his face. “I never did tell you about the snake, did I?”
    I shake my head no.
    Chuck’s grin grows like a flower blooming on fast-forward. “Then I’ll tell you as I walk you home.”

• • • 8 • • •
    â€œYour mom and I sure were troublemakers back when we were younger,” Chuck reminds me as we head back toward the giant brick sign, branded SERENDIPITY PLACE. “That’s what everyone called us, anyway.” He’s walking awfully slow—so slow, I can’t ride my bike. I have to steer it beside me, guide it along like a blind dog. So I know he’s gearing up for a pretty long tale. “Of course,
we
didn’t feel like we were trouble back then. Felt like we were out finding freedom.
    â€œWe were barely older than you are now,” he goes on, “hanging out one day, early on in the fall. That time of the year when it still feels good to be in a T-shirt, and all you want to do is be outside.”
    I smile, because Chuck has a way of telling stories that makes me feel like I’m there.
    â€œSo we were hanging out behind the church—our very own Hopewell. You know how that church butts up against a big wooded lot?”
    I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “And the old creek where they used to do the baptisms.”
    â€œWell, we figured nobody’d come looking for us there, and it was so beautiful, full of fall colors. I remember, it was the kind of day you want to put in a bottle. Which was why we’d ditched school. We didn’t think we could be in school on such a perfect fall day. And out behind the church, we were soaking it all in—the autumn sun and the leaves. And we were hiding from the truant officer. And—now, don’t tell Gus, because he’d kill me for admitting this . . .” He leans down to whisper, “We were sneaking cigarettes.”
    â€œChuck,”
I say.
    â€œShhh. Now, like I said, the sun felt really good to us that day. Must’ve felt good to that snake, too, because here he comes right out of the shade. Here he comes, heading straight for the light.
    â€œBad part was, he had to get past us so that he could stretch out on the church’s