A Whole Lot of Lucky Read Free

differently—
    â€œBREAKFAST!”
    â€œI’LL BE RIGHT DOWN!” I rubbed off the top like a snake shedding skin and grabbed a wrinkled green T-shirt from my closet floor. On it, a bunny is looking at a frog who says, “Rabbit.” I thought it was funny when I got it for Christmas in fifth grade. Now I was in middle school and I thought it was stupid, or I should say, I
discovered
it was stupid after a sidekick told me, “Hey, that’s stupid.” But you couldn’t see through it, so I put it on.
    Downstairs in the kitchen, Mom arched one penciled-in eyebrow at me. I have practiced that expression with Amanda, but the only way I can do it is if I hold the other eyebrow in place with my fingers.
    â€œSorry,” I said in a rush and kissed the fuzz on my baby sister’s head before sitting down.
    â€œAa-ee!” That’s “Hailee” in baby language. Libby is one and a half years old. Olivia is her full name, which is why I call her Libby.
    I tugged Libby’s feet under the tray of her high chair and she squealed and stamped her baby fork on the tray.
    Mom frowned at my shirt. “I thought you were wearing the new one today.”
    â€œDoesn’t fit,” I lied, shoveling the best blueberry pancakes ever made into my mouth.
    â€œWell, you can’t go to school in that one—it’s wrinkled. I’ll get a different top for you.”
    â€œNo time!” I slurped my orange juice. “I’ll be late!”
    She glanced at the clock on the microwave, sighed,and slid into the chair across from me with her coffee. Snuggling into Libby’s face, Mom said, “Olivia was a good newspaper girl today.” She tickled her feet. “Yes, you were! Yes, you were!” That’s all it took for Libby—she giggled, snorted, banged the high chair with her heels, and grabbed her cut-up pancake bits in her fists, squishing them through her fingers like Play-Doh.
    Mom’s newspaper route was fun. She drove through town with both windows open, pitching newspapers out both sides without even slowing down—her arm’s that good. Sometimes I thought about getting up early to help her on Sundays, but I never did more than think about it. I’m not what you’d call a morning person—at least, not a
four
o’clock-in-the-morning person.
    I glanced at the back door. Dad’s work sneakers were gone. “Did Dad have an early job today?” I asked between blueberry bites. Dad cleans carpets—that’s his business and he is the owner and also the only employee. The good thing about Dad’s business is we have the cleanest carpet in town. The bad thing about Dad’s business is that his customers all live around here, which means he’s like a servant in the houses of my classmates.
    Mom set her cup down. “Three, actually—in Hill Crest.” Hill Crest is the la-di-da gated community across town. Once when Libby was sick and Mom had to take her to the doctor, Dad brought me with him to a job there. Talk about security! Not only is there a gate, there’s a security guard, video cameras, and signstelling you about the guard and cameras. I never saw a neighborhood so stuck on itself. Past the gate, you can hardly believe your eyes. Those aren’t houses—they’re mansions, and that means a lot of carpet to clean and maybe even sofas and drapes.
    I swirled the back of my fork through the leftover syrup on my plate, licked it off, and then cleared the table. The phone rang. Mom and I groaned at the same time. Since I happened to be standing by the sink, I answered it after looking at the caller ID. “Hi, Mrs. Gardner, how’re you today?”
    â€œI’d be a lot better if I got my paper.”
    Cranky old lady. Her voice sounded like crushed aluminum foil. One of her grandsons was in my math class. “Hang on,” I said. “Here’s my mom.”
    Mom rolled her