A Whole Lot of Lucky Read Online Free Page A

out.”
    â€œYes.”
    She exhales loudly. “Go home, girls. Watch out for cracks and look both ways.” She closes a manila folder. Amanda and I stand up and begin to leave. I rise like a helium balloon, free and light, ready to float out of there until Dr. Taylor stops my escape.
    â€œHailee?”
    I freeze.
    â€œMaybe you’re stronger than you realize.”
    She makes me sound like a bodybuilder. Her piercing eagle eyes return. “Keep it in check, okay?” Then she promises to call my mom and explain what happened.
    Outside at the bike rack, Amanda says, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
    â€œThanks for sticking up for
me
,” I say back. It takes a second, just long enough to swing my leg over the boy bar of my bike, for me to realize there’s a little hurt worming its way through my heart. “Why would you think I pushed you into the road?”
    She fumbles with her handlebars. “I don’t know. I just … um …”
    â€œWhat?”
    She lifts her eyes to me and shrugs one shoulder. “I thought you were jealous of my bike.”
    Well! A strange mix of feelings hits my stomach.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she says, “and I really do want you to keep the skirt because I know how much you like it.” She smiles. My stomach churns and my head fills with heat. She cocks a pedal. “Want to come over to my house?”
    I wouldn’t be jealous in a hundred million years.
    â€œHailee, what’s the matter? Are you mad?”
    I am not mad. I am not jealous. I am just leaving. My body moves on its own, toes pushing against the sidewalk for a kick-start, feet hitting the pedals. I ride past her and keep going.
    â€œHailee! I said I was sorry!”
    Past the playground, past the field, up to the crossroad where I go left and she has to go right. I don’t even stop at the sign.
    â€œHailee!” Her voice is at the crossroad. “I was wrong, okay? I said I was sorry! I was wrong!”
    My pedals churn like my stomach. The chain rattles, whining higher and higher the faster I go. The whole bike frame squeaks and grates; the loose chain guard rasps against the links.
    I hate shopping at thrift stores, I hate not having my own phone, and I hate that my mom delivers newspapers to people I go to school with.
    My rear tire pelts me with gravel.
    I hate this bike.

Chapter 3
    The afternoon is sour as grapefruit, which no one really likes but everyone eats when they’re on a diet. Mom bangs cupboard doors shut and raises the cleaver high as she chops the heads off broccoli. “A phone call from the principal!”
Whack!
“The principal, Hailee!”
Whack, whack!
“Wait till your dad hears about this!” One final whack, then she pushes the severed broccoli heads into a pot of boiling water.
    I plan to serve as my own lawyer. Though my mom has the position of mother behind her, I have the testimony of the principal. That, and the fact that Amanda admitted her knee didn’t even hurt. Just look at all the trouble I’ve gotten into over nothing.
    Mom stops clanging around for a second. “Are you even listening to me? This is important.”
    For Mom, school is almost as important as church.She barely graduated. Whenever she tried to read her textbooks, the letters would trick her and change places. So if she was trying to get through a sentence that read,
Put nuts in the pan for a nice tang,
my mom would see,
Put stun in the nap for a nice gnat.
That kind of reading put her in the lower classes, and even there she got bad grades. In math, too, because numbers know how to jump around just as well as letters do.
    It wasn’t till after high school that she heard of dyslexia, which is the medical word for the way her brain mixes up the letters and numbers. By then, she was on her own and paying her rent by working as a waitress. That’s how she met my dad.
    I flick a Cheerio across Libby’s tray