To Catch a Mermaid Read Free

don’t want anything too expensive, because we’re running out of money. If your father doesn’t start painting again, we’re going to have to sell this house, for sure.”
    “We can’t sell the house,” Mertyle cried, dropping the magnifying glass onto her pile of crumbs. “How will Mother find us if we move?”
    Silence fell over the kitchen. Even the coffee percolator stalled.
    Halvor put his wide, speckled hand over Mertyle’s spotted hand and gently squeezed. Poor Mertyle. When would she be able to face the truth?
    The kitchen clock read 7:40. School started at eight. Boom asked to be excused, then ran upstairs to dress. He didn’t want to be late for school. The last time he was late, Principal Prunewallop took away his lunch recess privileges, and that couldn’t happen today because the tournament was scheduled for lunch recess.
    Back downstairs, Boom put on his thin jacket. It provided little protection from the winter winds, but he owned nothing better. “Bring home Mertyle’s homework so she’ll get smart and her brain will stop farting,” Halvor told him, handing over a sack lunch that smelled fishy, as it always did. Boom stuffed the lunch into his backpack, eager to be on his way. “Don’t forget fresh fish,” Halvor yelled after him.
    “Okay, okay,” Boom called back. But under his breath he made a wish that there would be no fish at the dock so he could bring home something else.

Chapter Three:
    Winger

    B oom stepped off the sagging front porch and hurried across the big dirt circle. Fog hovered above the trees. The cold March air stung his nostrils. He kicked the walkway gate with his foot. It swung open, hanging from a single rusty hinge. He kicked it again. Then he stomped a dande-lion seed ball with his secondhand sneaker. No one else had dandelion seed balls in their yard in March. Even though it was winter and most plants slept beneath the cold ground, dandelions grew between the cracks in the paved walk way that led from Boom’s house to the street. In fact, dandelions suffocated the lawn, filled the forgotten window boxes, and had even taken root in the mailbox.
    The yellow weeds had appeared right after the twister. Boom figured the seeds had been kidnapped by the swirling wind and deposited in their yard — come from some distant land where dandelions grew all year long. All the hacking and pulling in the world couldn’t get rid of those stubborn transplants. It was bad enough having the smallest house on Fairweather Island, worse still to have one plagued by unsightly dandelions. Mertyle picked the ones that grew within arm’s reach of the front door and put them in empty marmalade jars. Close inspection almost always revealed dandelion seeds in Boom’s hair.
    The only place the dandelions did not grow was in the big dirt circle.
    Boom kicked the gate shut. It snapped free of the hinge and crashed onto the walkway. He shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t really matter since the entire place was falling apart. Paint peeled off the house, gutters dangled dangerously, and duct tape held three windows in place. No longer did cherry red geraniums line the walkway, or bluejays chatter around overflowing bird feeders. No longer did polka-dot skirts or lacy underpants hang from the clothesline. When people passed by the periwinkle blue house at the end of Prosperity Street, they often stopped to gawk and shake their heads.
    “That’s the house where Mrs. Broom, a very nice person indeed, was sucked away by a tornado,” they’d say.
    “How terribly sad.”
    “Go away,” Boom would yell from his bedroom window. He hated people staring. He wanted to kick people who stared.
    Boom stepped onto the sidewalk and proceeded to kick things all the way up Prosperity Street — rocks, a Styrofoam coffee cup, even a growling dog who bit at his shoelaces. Kicking was the only thing Boom had going for him. He wasn’t a genius, he wasn’t graced with dashing good looks or a magnetic