Chance and the Butterfly Read Free Page B

Mark was pale and pretty skinny, but tall, the wiry type. Finally he looked up, meeting Chance’s eyes first and then looking him over. “Hi,” he said and turned back to the screen.
    Chance opened his mouth to say “hi” back, but only a squeak came out, resulting in another glance and a small smile from the other boy. “Mark!” Doug’s voice was sharp. “Turn that off, come over here and meet your new foster brother.”
    â€œI said hi,” Mark said, but he clicked the remote, got up and came. Chance pushed his shoe against the edge of carpet in the doorway. There Mark stood, facing Chance. There Chance stood, facing the floor. He raised his chin and looked at Mark again. Mark looked back. Doug watched them for a moment and then relented.
    â€œCome on, boys,” he said. “That chicken is roasted to perfection!”
    â€œWatch out for Louise,” Angie said, looking up from the electric mixer. Chance looked around, then down. There was Louise on a quilt on the floor, surrounded by stuffed animals. There was the chicken, golden brown, resting on the counter. The rest of the room was a madhouse. Potato peelings, onion skins and dirty pots and pans covered every counter and filled the sink.
    Mark got busy setting the table, and Doug started carving the chicken. Chance moved into the room and sat down on a chair at the cluttered kitchen table. Angie smiled at him and winked. He looked away and then jumped as Louise gave a loud wail.
    Angie turned off the beater. “Could you distract her for a minute?” she said. “I’ll put her in her high chair as soon as I get these potatoes on the table.”
    Chance stared down at Louise. Her face was red, her eyes were squeezed shut, and her wide-open, almost toothless mouth looked as if it was just getting geared up. Chance got down on his knees, clutched a stuffed rabbit and waved it over her. The screams continued. He dropped the rabbit, backed away and looked to see if Angie was coming, but she was spooning green peas into a bowl. Yuck, he thought and turned back to Louise. Her hands were balled into fists by her chest. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around one of those fists. The screams stopped. Her eyes opened. For a long second they stared right into one another’s eyes. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and let out the loudest yell yet.
    â€œThanks, Chance,” Angie said, suddenly on her knees at his side. She reached under Louise, pulled a little blanket around her and swept her up into her arms. “I’m going to sit with Louise for a while in the other room. You go on in and get started. Doug’s dishing up.” And she was gone.
    Chance stood and looked toward the dining-room door. He bit down hard on his lower lip. He looked toward the door to the front hall, toward the room where Louise’s wails, a little quieter now, were coming from.
    â€œCome and get it,” Doug called. Chance wanted to go back to his room or to go into the front room and sit with Angie, wailing baby or no wailing baby. But he turned himself around, walked into the dining room and sat down in front of a plate heaped with food. Across the table, Mark was already gnawing on a drumstick. Chance picked up his knife and fork, even though he knew no food was going to get down his throat while he sat at this table.
    Doug left him alone for a while. He asked Mark questions about his day, about school. “Didn’t you have Ms. Samson in grade three?” he said at one point.
    â€œYeah. She was fantastic!” Mark said, his voice warm for the first time.
    â€œShe’s going to be Chance’s teacher,” Doug said, meeting Chance’s eyes for a moment. “Isn’t that great?”
    â€œI guess,” Mark said, but the look he gave Chance showed that he did not think that it was great at all.
    Doug turned his attention to Chance. “She does a lot of interesting things with