To Catch a Mermaid Read Free Page A

personality. But Boomerang Winslow Broom had been born with a better-than-average right kicking foot, slightly larger than his left foot and slightly thicker. A thing of beauty.
    He paid no attention to the scenery on either side of the street, for it was the same old street he had walked along his entire life. And because he had never lived in a smog-filled city or a featureless development, he did not fully appreciate the picturesque quality of the stone houses that he passed, each painted in soft colors like sea-foam green, glazed apricot, and banana cream yellow — like candy chips on cupcakes. Most of the houses on Fairweather Island were made of stone because it stood up to the winter winds and the salty spray.
    “Hey, Boom.” His best friend, Winger, ran from his house and joined Boom on the sidewalk. Winger’s full name was Victor Emmanuel Wingingham, so obviously he preferred Winger.
    He handed Boom a Pop-Tart — blueberry with blue frosting. He always brought goodies for Boom because he had eaten at Boom’s house many times since Halvor’s arrival, so he knew what his friend was forced to consume. Boom shoved half the pastry into his mouth. He kicked an apple that must have fallen from someone’s grocery bag, because all the apple trees were bare. He tried to savor the sweet blueberry filling — tried to let it linger on his tongue, but hunger overcame him. Who would have thought a simple rectangle of pastry and jam could taste so good?
    “Are you ready?” Winger asked.
    “Oh yeah, I’m ready,” Boom proclaimed, spraying crumbs. The final game in the Kick the Ball Against the Wall Tournament was only a few hours away. Boom loved the game, but so did his archenemy, Hurley Mump. Hurley was last year’s school champion, only because Boom had come down with chicken pox during the final week of games. Not fake Mertyle-drawn pox but the real thing that made his skin feel like flea food. But this would be Boom’s championship year. So what if he didn’t have professional kicking shoes like Hurley had, the kind those famous athletes wore? So what if he felt hungry most days, picking at a piece of smoked fish for lunch while Hurley chowed down on thick-cut turkey and cream-filled cupcakes? So what if everything in the universe seemed to always work against him? He had practiced all year and he had the best kicking foot in school. Today, 12:05, right after lunch. Boom vs. Hurley. Today was Boom’s day!
    “I bet seven dollars,” Winger said. “You’re gonna win for sure.” Winger never played Kick the Ball Against the Wall. He wasn’t allowed to because he wore glasses and had fake front teeth. But he kept score. He could keep score while opening ketchup packets and while picking all the shredded lettuce off a cafeteria hamburger. He could keep numbers in his head for days, without forgetting them. “No one can beat you.”
    “You got that right.” They started up the sidewalk. Boom continued to kick the apple as they went.
    “So, what’s wrong with Mertyle this morning?” Winger always asked a lot of questions about Mertyle. Boom suspected that his best friend had a crush on his sister.
    “She has spots,” he told Winger. “She’s nuts.”
    “What kind of spots? Like pimples? Pimples are dis-gusting.”
    “Sunflower spots,” Boom said, but he didn’t want to talk about Mertyle. He wanted to focus on the tournament. He needed to warm up his foot. He kicked the apple again, so hard that it flew over a picket fence.
    Crash!
The sound of breaking glass pierced the chilly air — a sound Boom had heard far too often.
    “Hey!” a man shouted.
    Boom and Winger didn’t even look at each other. They took off at full speed, rounding the next corner like racehorses with blinders on. Boom’s mind raced even faster than his legs. He couldn’t get in trouble again. Not again. Last week his soccer ball had dislodged a gutter, and yesterday his football had bonked the mail-lady on the