The Birthday Party of No Return! Read Free

problem, of course, was Lucky Duckworth.
    â€œMaybe I can get lucky, too,” I muttered. “Maybe…”
    I heard a sound. I spun around to the door.
    Only Arfy.
    The big dog stepped into my room. His head was down. He looked kind of droopy.
    â€œArfy, what are you doing in here?” I asked.
    Arfy made a few loud coughing sounds. Like he was clearing his throat. He licked his snout furiously.
    Then his stomach heaved. He opened his mouth wide and threw up on my carpet.
    A big wave of lumpy yellow vomit poured out of his mouth. He made another groaning sound. And dropped another huge pile of vomit beside the first one.
    I let out a long sigh.
    Even my dog is bad luck!
    How can I change my luck? Am I just DOOMED?

Mom came into my room while I was still cleaning up the vomit. She studied the carpet for a moment.
    â€œYou missed a spot,” she said, pointing.
    I rolled my eyes. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”
    She was holding a square brown package. “I forgot,” she said. “This came in the mail for you.”
    I glanced up at it. “Who’s it from?”
    â€œDoesn’t say,” Mom said. The phone rang. She set the package down on my desk and hurried away to answer it.
    I finished the cleanup. I washed my hands, but I couldn’t get the smell off them.
    I picked up the package. It was addressed to me with no return address. What could it be? I didn’t remember sending for anything.
    The package was very light. I shook it. Nothing rattled inside.
    I tore off the brown paper and found a box underneath. In bright red letters, the top of the box read: INSTANT GOOD LUCK .
    Huh? Had someone read my mind?
    In smaller type, the box top said: This rare good-luck charm never fails.
    I lifted the box and let the brown wrapping fall to the floor. “This has to be some kind of stupid joke,” I muttered to Arfy.
    The dog was watching me closely. He was hoping there would be food in the box.
    Did Cory send this as a joke?
    I shoved the box into my bottom desk drawer. I didn’t even open it.
    â€œCory must think I’m a total moron,” I said to Arfy. “Like I’m really going to believe in good-luck charms.”
    I slammed the desk drawer shut and forgot about it.
    Â 
    A few days later, six or seven kids gathered at the tennis court behind the school. They came for the first event in the Sports Camp competition.
    A singles tennis match. Just one match against one opponent. The winners would score points for skill and style, awarded by Ms. Andersen, the school tennis coach.
    Ms. Andersen is young and very pretty, with long, wavy brown hair and brown eyes and a great smile.
    She doesn’t dress like a teacher. She always wears T-shirts and jeans.
    She matched up the players. Who did she match me up against? My pal Cory, of course.
    Kids took out their rackets and began to take practice swings. We hit balls against the back wall of the school.
    The court isn’t in great shape. The surface is a little lumpy. Sometimes the ball takes crazy bounces. And the net is a little loose.
    But it’s the only court we have.
    It was a sunny, warm day with a few low clouds drifting past. I did some warm-up exercises, swinging my arms from side to side. Loosening up.
    I felt pretty good. Sometimes Cory and I play tennis on weekends, and we are about even. And maybe I beat him a few more times than he beats me.
    Laura and a girl in our class named Shara Johnston were the first to play. We stopped our warm-ups to watch them.
    Cory stepped up to me with a grin on his face, his dimple flashing. “Check it out,” he said. He raised his racket in front of me.
    â€œIs that new?” I asked.
    He nodded. “My dad bought it for me. Look.” He ran his fingers over the strings. “See? It’s a new kind of racket. The string bed is suspended inside the frame.”
    I squinted at it. “What’s that supposed to do?” I asked.
    Cory’s