A Smidgen of Sky Read Free

syrup toward me. “I let you stay home with Miss Claudia most of the time. I don’t think having you spend one day a week with Ben and Ginger is too much. You need to spend time together.”
    About as much as I needed a plateful of slimy okra.
    Mama turned back to the griddle and poured another puddle of batter into the spattering oil. “Did you ask Ben about the air show yet?”
    â€œWhy can’t you ask him? He’ll say yes for sure.”
    â€œAnd if you ask?”
    â€œWell, I—I dunno.”
    She smiled. “You underestimate him, Piper Lee. Ben’s a really great guy. If he knows how important the air show is to you, I bet he’ll be willing to go.”
    I swirled a bite of flapjack in my syrup.
    â€œAnyhow,” Mama said, “you gotta start sometime.”
    â€œStart what?”
    â€œTalking with Ben.”
    â€œI talk to him.”
    â€œI don’t mean one or two words when he asks you a question. I mean a real honest-to-goodness conversation. Like the kind Ginger and I have.”
    â€œGinger’s just trying to get points.”
    â€œHmm,” Mama said. “And all this time I thought she liked me.”
    â€œWell, she does like you.” I tried to backtrack. “I just think a lot of the stuff she says is to impress you.”
    â€œWell, know what I think? I think you underestimate Ginger, too.”
    I wondered when she’d started liking the word
underestimate
so much. My math teacher talked about using estimates to guess the worth of something. Was Mama saying Ben and Ginger were worth more than I thought they were? A picture of Ginger standing by the side of the road with a FOR SALE sign hanging around her neck made me grin.
    â€œDid I say something funny?” Mama asked.
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    She winked. “Well, whatever it is, it’s nice to see you smile.”
    We climbed into our old Toyota to head for Ben and Ginger’s right after one o’clock. Mama called the car Ol’ Faithful on account of we’d had it forever. As soon as we turned onto Hillman Lane, you could see clear down the skinny gravel road to the last place on the left, where Ben and Ginger lived. It wasn’t much to look at, a one-story house built of rough gray wood, standing in a yard that was half red dirt and half scrappy lawn. But I liked the patch of sunflowers growing near the porch, the way their huge happy faces seemed to follow the sun across the sky. The big shady area beneath the pecan trees was kind of nice, too.
    Ben was tinkering under the hood of his ugly brown Mustang when we pulled into the drive, but as soon as Mama parked the car, he was right there like a hog for his slop. Mama disappeared into his arms. He smiled at me over the top of her head. “Hey, Piper Lee. You come to visit again?”
    â€œYessir,” I said, slurring the two words into one. Mama didn’t like when I did that, said it wasn’t respectful. She didn’t take note. Next time I’d make it more smart-alecky. I sighed real loud as they kissed.
    â€œGinger’s around back on the trampoline,” Ben said.
    Yahoo for Ginger.
“Bye, Mama.”
    She didn’t answer. She was too busy gazing up at Ben as if he were some trophy fish she’d just hooked. I slammed my car door extra hard and wondered when Ben had become more important to her than me.
    Before I’d stomped even halfway around the house, I smelled the sharp stink of fingernail polish. I found Ginger sitting cross-legged in the middle of the trampoline, wearing a pink shirt that said “Pep Rally Angel.”
    Ginger flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Hey, Piper.”
    â€œHow come you’re painting your nails clear?”
    â€œâ€™Cause the glitter looks the most silvery that way.”
    She picked up a small tube and dusted it over the wet polish. “See?” She waved a shimmering hand toward me. “Want