Last in a Long Line of Rebels Read Free

before the regulation, so they couldn’t bother us. Daddy had enclosed the backyard with a fence, just to be neighborly, but it didn’t take long for the junk to tower over it.
    Benzer fell down next to me. “Why are you frowning?”
    â€œDo you think the house looks bad? Be honest.”
    â€œNot bad,” he said. “It looks old, but that just gives it character.”
    â€œThat’s one word for it.”
    I’m the latest in a long line of Mayhews that have lived here, and every one of them has added on in some way. The house is three stories, and Daddy says that the sunroom was probably added later, as was the large utility room off of the kitchen. His grandfather supposedly thought the house looked unbalanced, so he added more bedrooms on each side. Now the second floor has a total of four bedrooms, counting Bertie’s, which used to be an upstairs parlor. It looks like a mess of rooms and random columns attached to nothing, all held together by overgrown grapevines, but it’s ours.
    Benzer pushed himself up on his elbows. “I know something exciting. You could go with me to the park and watch me hit balls over the fence. What could be better than that?”
    â€œAbsolutely anything?”
    â€œYou’re in a great mood. Does your mom have any colas in the fridge? It’s burning up out here.”
    â€œOh, come on.” I climbed to my feet. “Mama’s on an organic juice kick right now, but I know where Bertie keeps her stash.”
    We brushed the grass from our clothes and walked to the porch. The front door was open to let in the breeze, and I stood in the doorway letting my eyes adjust to the dimness. The living room was just off the foyer, and I motioned Benzer inside. “Wait here. I’ll check if they’re out of the kitchen.”
    I walked down the hallway. Mama’s and Bertie’s voices drifted up from the cellar. Satisfied, I walked back to Benzer. “It should be okay. They’re down in the cellar looking through my old baby clothes. That’ll take hours.”
    Benzer was on his knees in front of the bookcase, a large, dusty Bible in his lap.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I asked.
    â€œI haven’t seen this in forever. Not since your mother banned us from ever touching it again.”
    I sat down beside him. “Oh, yeah. But it was Bertie’s fault for telling us if we prayed for something with a sincere heart, we’d get it.” A smile snuck across my face. “Remember, I asked for it to snow?”
    Benzer laughed. “That’s right, in August. When it didn’t, you threw the Bible across the room.”
    â€œI
dropped
it. How old were we, seven?” I opened the cover and read, “
Universal Library of Divine Knowledge, containing the sacred texts of the Old and New Testaments, in which the important truths are confirmed to dispel the mists of darkness, enlighten the ignorant, and implant divine knowledge which is necessary to salvation.
”
    â€œWow,” Benzer said, “that ought to cover it.”
    â€œI don’t know what half of that means.” I traced a finger across the penciled name at the top. “
Silas Whittle, 1858.
”
    â€œWho was that?”
    â€œI’m not sure. Somebody in the family, I guess.”
    Benzer picked up my hand and placed it on a page with a drawing of a baby Jesus. “What are you waiting for?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked.
    â€œTry again. You just said we need a miracle. Ask it for something exciting.”
    â€œWhatever. It didn’t snow, remember?” I wiped my dusty hand on my shorts.
    â€œDo you have a better idea?”
    I pictured Sally’s smirking face as we stood on the sidewalk in front of school. “Fine, but why do I have to say it?”
    â€œYou’re the one who told Sally we had big plans. And it’s your family Bible—duh!”
    I exhaled slowly. “Okay.