The Great Good Summer Read Free Page A

saying no to all of my ideas, I’m kind of impressed by Lucy’s sentence.
    â€œGood talking, Luce!” I say.
    On the other side of Picnic Hill is the skate park where all the rough boys go to do fancy tricks in the big concrete scoop. There are three high schoolers there today. One of them I know for sure is Jenny Abler’s older brother, and one of the others is this boy called Jake who Abby had kind of a crush on for a while even though he’s never given her the time of day, and I’m pretty sure her parents would completely disapprove of him due to his long hair and baggy pants and extreme oldness. But these days Abby’s not really into her parents or the things herparents approve of. Which personally makes me a tidge nervous, but I guess that’s why I’m not Abby.
    Just past the skate park is the fenced area that’s for remote controlled airplanes and helicopters and stuff, and it turns out that this is what the Murray babies want to do today—watch the planes. They want to sit pressed against the fence and stare up at the sky. So we do.
    We sit for maybe fifteen minutes, looking and oohing and aahing as the planes make big loops in the sky. Then suddenly I feel someone standing right behind me.
    â€œHey, Ivy,” a voice says, and when I turn around, there are Dash Bauer and Paul Dobbs, from school. “Looks like you’ve been cloned,” says Dash, shrugging at the babies.
    â€œTwice,” says Paul. And they laugh.
    I’ve never actually noticed that the Murray babies look a little bit like me, at least as much as everyone with light brown hair and light brown eyes and pinkish skin looks a little alike. I mean, I guess that’s what Dash and Paul are getting at.
    â€œYeah, right,” I say. “Since cloning is legal and possible and all.”
    Lucy and Devon stare up at the boys, wide eyed. Lucy grabs on to my leg, just the way she did with Mrs. Murray, but Devon points at Paul.
    â€œAirplane!” he says.
    â€œHa. You’ve got good taste,” says Paul. He smiles sort of a half smile and bends down to show Devon what he’s got in his hands. It’s a slick-looking black-and-red-and-silver jet, with fins and a domed window. And there’s at least one other plane, plus a bunch of antennae and stuff sticking out of the bag at Paul’s feet. “We’re gonna fly ’em,” Paul says to Devon. “Wanna watch?”
    â€œSure, we’ll watch. Right, guys?” I say, flat-out relieved that we’ve moved on from the cloning jokes.
    I don’t know what to say around the science guys. I never have. They aren’t scary in that way the super-popular kids are—you’re not gonna get tripped in the hall or laughed at during a pep rally or anything—but they sort of speak their own language, and it’s pretty impossible to understand. I’m not saying I’m dumb. I’ve been on the honor roll since the third grade, which is when we first got letter grades. But I’m mostly smart about reading and writing, and the science guys are smart about how the world works. Or at least how they think the world works.
    Paul and Dash push through the swinging gate and start setting out their equipment—airplanes and a helicopter and remote controls and a round red target theylay out on the ground in front of them. And big bottles of bright blue power drink and bags of chips. They greet the folks already flying with handshakes and fist bumps—they all seem to know each other—and right then, before Paul’s plane is even up, Lucy says, “Potty. Go potty now.”
    â€œDo you wanna watch the flying first, Lucy?” I say, but she’s already up on her feet, reaching for my fingers.
    â€œGo potty. Now.” She actually looks a little desperate.
    â€œOkay, guys. Let’s head over to the bathroom,” I say, hopping up quickly and bending down to swoop them up. But