Jackson Jones and the Curse of the Outlaw Rose Read Free Page A

I'm going to throw Ro's Luormatyou.”
    “No,” howled Ro.
    “Then spit it out.” Juana glared at us.
    “Gaby and Ro might get scared,” Reuben said. “This is sort of a ghost story.”
    “I
love
ghost stories.” Gaby plopped down beside me.
    “I'm never scared,” Ro declared, cupping his worm.
    So Reuben and I told how we had visited the cemetery and taken the rose cutting. Reuben's voice got all spooky and mysterious, talking about the bee stings and poison ivy and broken legs.
    “Mr. K. sprained his ankle,” I corrected. “He didn't break his leg.”
    “An ankle is part of your leg,” Reuben replied. “His leg got hurt.”
    Juana regarded me. “I take it you don't believe in this curse.”
    “What
curse?” I said. “The bee stings, the broken leg, the sprained ankle—those things just happened. Bad luck and carelessness. That's what the clean-up guy in the graveyard said.”
    Ro started to cry. “I'm scared.”
    “Here,
querido.”
Juana took him gently by the arm. “Let's find some dirt for your worm.”
    Ro sniffled.
    “You can put the dirt in my pockets,” Gaby offered. She followed them to a far-off plot and started to dig.
    Shadows gathered in the garden as the sun started setting.
    Reuben and I continued to sit.
    No, I did not believe in the curse. On the other hand, I'd always had bad luck with roses. And if I had inherited my mother's gift, as Mailbags called it, someday I might find myself studying plants. Tending to plants. Even … talking to plants.
    I squeezed my eyes shut. Drew a mind picture of me on the blacktop. Dribbling, shooting, scoring. Time after time after time. I was an ace at basketball, not flowers.
    When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw: those old-time yellow roses. Those Texas roses waving from Rooter's fence. The wrapped cutting was damp in my hand.
    Reuben was gone, helping with Ro's worm home. I could hear voices and laughter.
    No, I did not believe in the curse.
    But roses had always brought me bad luck.

CHAPTER SIX

    We straggled home, with Ro riding me piggyback and Gaby carting dirt in her pockets. Reuben dogged my every step with doom-and-gloom sighs. When we reached our building, he headed for his apartment. His grandma, Miz Lady, was waiting. Or maybe he wanted to put some distance between himself and the cutting.
    The rest of us knocked on Mailbags's door.
    “A fine pet,” the man pronounced when Ro flourished his worm. “The perfect size. Won't eat much or take up much room.”
    Mailbags himself takes up a lot of room. If the man jumped, I bet he could touch the ceiling. The worm was a skinny noodle besidehis buffalo self. As for eating, huh. Mailbags has come to our place for dinner. Whole zuc-chinis disappear.
    Yeah, Ro's worm was in good hands. Mail-bags even had a whole book on the creatures. Gaby pulled the dirt out of her pockets and dumped it in a plastic cup. Then Mailbags handed Ro a bit of banana.
    The boy raised it to his lips.
    Mailbags laughed. “That's for your worm,” he said. “A little fruit twice a week and soon your pet will be fat as a tire.”
    Gaby gasped.
    “I'm kidding,” Mailbags said. “But watch, that worm will consume the banana and pass it through. In a few weeks, Ro will have the richest dirt around.”
    “You can have it for your garden,” Ro promised.
    “What about your worm?” asked Mailbags, walking us to the door.
    “I'll get him more dirt and he can start again.” Ro waved good-bye. “He's going to live with me forever.”
    “He-she,” muttered Gaby as we moseyed to the elevator. “And I don't want him-her living near me.”
    I was about to step into the elevator with the Riveras, when I remembered the cutting. I'd left it at Mailbags's. That stick looked a lot like trash. What if he'd thrown it away?
    “Wait, Jackson.” Mailbags trotted out to the hallway. Handed me the soggy paper towel. “You're looking wrung out, my man. Bad day?”
    I didn't want to get into the whole curse thing. “Can