Windfall Read Online Free PDF Page A

that fall to the ground because of wind or the simple pull of gravity.”
    Mitchell looked at us sadly. “When I was a boy, my mom would ask me, ‘If a hungry man steals a loaf of bread, is it really stealing?’ I believe food can’t be stolen. Hunger is different from greed.”
    Olive nods. “My mom says that if someone asks for water, we should always say yes. And if we’re sharing a cup of water with someone, it’s wrong to drink more than our share. Water belongs equally to everyone.”
    â€œI hate those companies that put it in bottles and sell it,” I say sourly.
    â€œSome say that water, air and land belong to everyone equally. They say that property is theft—just by owning something, you’ve taken it. I agree,” Mitchell says. “I certainly believe that my apples are common property. Especially after what happened to Richard. That’s why I put them out for neighbors.”
    Olive and I pedal home with plastic bags of Mitchell’s apples hanging from our handlebars. At one point I tease Olive about having an emotion to report. At Olive’s house before supper, everyone holds hands and talks about how they felt that day.
    â€œThat story sure was sad,” Olive says. “Imagine calling the police for something like that.”
    I’m not feeling sad though. I’m actually feeling kind of happy. I’m happy Richard did something. He tried to get what he needed.
    It’s funny how I keep being reminded of Richard. Mitchell’s story and the bag of apples bumping against my knee as I pedal keep Richard close. Even the startling emptiness of Richard’s bench is an echo of his life. But echoes eventually die too, don’t they?

Chapter Nine
    At lunch, someone grabs my elbow. It’s Niall. As far as I’m concerned, he is the cutest boy in the school. His wavy black hair shines down past his shoulders. He’s the school high-jump champion, wiry and nimble. He has a perpetual cold, which means there’s not a lot of competition for dating him. Niall makes supercool stuff. He once connected an amplifier to the cutlery drawer so the rattling of knives and forks was broadcast through his house. He did the same thing with a drainpipe. He called it audio art. Usually Niall is mellow, but today he seems agitated.
    â€œLiza, I’m going to propose a compost program,” he says. Niall is in BRRR!, Boys for Renewable Resources, Really! They’re GRRR!’s sibling organization. “It’s cheap and simple. A bucket in every classroom for lunch scraps. We only need to find a farmer to pick up the compost once a week.”
    â€œI can find a farmer,” I say, a little too eagerly. Mom knows a few farmers.
    â€œKilljoy will probably say no,” says Niall, “unless there’s a whole lot of support for it.”
    Mrs. Reynolds—Killjoy—has blocked every one of BRRR!’s and GRRR!’s initiatives. Last year we held a bicycle wash and a plant sale. We raised hundreds of dollars for solar hot-water panels for the school. But Mrs. Reynolds said the panels were aesthetically detrimental. She meant they were ugly.
    â€œI was going to ask if you would help me draw up a petition and collect signatures,” says Niall.
    A petition sounds exciting—if I’m working on it with him .
    Niall and I spend the rest of the lunch hour in the library. We laugh a lot trying to get the wording right. The petition can’t be too brazen or too shy.
    Niall asks where I had gone last week. He’d seen me and the boys get in Mom’s car. I tell him a little about Richard.
    â€œYeah, I used to see him around,” Niall says. “He was just a bum.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know,” I say, surprised Niall would be so cold. “He was homeless.”
    â€œYeah, I know. Lots of those guys on the street are totally fine, and young. Why don’t they just get a