Lucky Cap Read Free Page A

about any color? Well, our Ink was a miniature pinscher—a min pin—and black.
    He heard me coming and started yapping and racing around the backyard like a lunatic. I loved Ink and hated leaving him behind. Especially with the Sisterhood. Who knew what they would do to him. A month and a half of baby talk alone would probably damage his brain permanently.
    I unlocked the gate, but before I could open it, Ink started hurling himself against it. As usual. He barked and snarled like he was rabid. I couldn’t get in.
    Then again, I thought to myself, maybe some time away from him might be a good thing.
    I crouched down and let him lick my face through the chain link.
    â€œBye, Ink, you big spaz,” I said, but in a loving way.
    When I returned to the front yard, a car was pulling into the driveway and Dad was walking over to it. It was Evan Stevens come to pick us up. What kind of car did Kap give Evan to drive? Something boxy and boring with good gas mileage? Nope. He drove a silver convertible. With the top down, of course. There was a huge, tilted, black K painted on the door. This was the car we’d be driving all over the western states! I don’t know what one feels like, but it felt like I was having a heart attack. I was that excited.
    (Turns out it wasn’t a heart attack. Phew. I would’ve hated to miss the trip.)
    Evan shut off the engine, rocked back in his seat, then, with a really big grin, asked, “So what do you think of our ride, boys? Not bad, right?”
    Dad laughed and nodded, and I said, “It’s awesome!” I admit this was a pretty lame answer, but in this case, it was accurate. I was definitely feeling some awe. Lots of it, actually.
    Evan was too cool to live. He was tall, dark, and ripped. His black Kap polo shirt could barely hold his arms, chest, and shoulders. He wore dark Ray-Bans and chewed gum. He smiled real big, but it wasn’t fake. He looked wide awake for so early in the morning, like he had more energy than he knew what to do with. He wasn’t a spaz like Ink or anything. He just looked… you know… psyched. Unlike most grown-ups.
    I liked him right off the bat.
    â€œHow’s it going this a.m., Mr. Assistant General Manager?” Evan asked as he shook Dad’s hand.
    Standing next to Evan, my big, strong father suddenly seemed not so big or strong. But, to be fair, Evan was a lot younger. Dad was ancient. Thirty-eight.
    â€œThis has got to be Lorenzo,” Evan said, releasing Dad’s hand and grabbing mine with a firm grip. “Heard a lot about you, dude. All good.”
    â€œH-Hi, Mr. Stevens,” I squeaked. I guess I was kind of star-struck.
    â€œEvan is the name,” he said. “Mr. Stevens is my granddad’s name!”
    â€œI like Enzo,” I said, and it struck me that both our names started with E . Which was cool.
    â€œSo then, Enzo,” Evan said, getting real serious all of a sudden, “what do you think about this little excursion we’re embarking on?”
    I was tongue-tied. What did I think? Was I supposed to be thinking? Wasn’t this summer vacation? I searched my brain for a thought.
    â€œI think it’s going to be the amazingest trip in the history of time,” I said.
    Evan laughed so hard I bit my tongue. It wasn’t that funny. In fact, it wasn’t funny at all. Amazingest was just a word that had been going around the neighborhood that summer.
    â€œYou got that right!” he said. “That’s exactly what it’s going to be. The amazingest trip in the history of time! You nailed it, Enzo!”
    We stowed our gear and piled in, then Evan fired up the convertible and we pulled away from the curb. I leaned back into the seat, which was really cushy and comfortable. I looked up at the blue sky. It was like I was in some PG-13 movie!
    We turned the corner onto Kearny Boulevard, a fast street with four lanes of traffic. As the car picked up