Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink Read Online Free Page A

through, like most people in Los Suenos. He used “hate” as a people-verb when it came to J.J. — or anybody else who didn’t speak English as a second language. Until now, he had never so much as spit in Lucy’s direction. Now he narrowed his eyes at her in a way that would have made Mudge run for cover.
    “If I killed you, it woulda been your fault,” he said to her.
    “So what?” Lucy said.
    Gabe blinked. The whites of his eyes were bright against his ruddy skin.
    “If I was dead,” she said, “why would I care whose fault it was?”
    He blinked again. The he hissed between his teeth and turned to J.J., who was starting to grin.
    “What are you laughin’ at?” Gabe said.
    “Nothin’,” J.J. said. The grin evaporated.
    “You were laughin’ at me.” Gabe came off the seat of the ATV, and J.J. pulled his hands from his armpits, stiff, but at the ready.
    “Hello!” Lucy said. “I could be bleeding to death here.”
    Gabe tilted his chin up. “You wouldn’t be sitting there talking if you were bleeding to death. Right?”
    Lucy kept her arm hugged to her jacket and managed to stand up. Her face burned. The tear in her jacket was turning red. And if she didn’t get J.J. out of there, he was going to look worse than she did.
    She glanced at her watch. 3:10. Barely enough time to get home and destroy the evidence before Aunt Karen pulled up.
    “I want to go home,” she said. “I might need stitches.”
    “It was your fault,” Gabe said again, and spun his wheels to make an exit.
    “Do you really need stitches?” J.J. said when he was gone.
    “No, brain child,” Lucy said. “I was just trying to get rid of him.”
    J.J. pulled his dark eyebrows nearly down to his nose. “I coulda done that.”
    “Before or after he tore you into little pieces? Come on, I gotta get home.”
    “Take my bike,” J.J. said. “I’ll fix yours before your dad even knows about it.”
    Lucy didn’t go there in her mind. Dad would somehow sense with the eyes he seemed to have inside his brain that she’d gotten into trouble.
    But he wasn’t the one she was worried about. She looked at her watch again. She still had time to bury her jacket and sweatshirt in the bottom of the dirty clothes basket, put a couple of bandages on her arm — okay, maybe five — and get into a long-sleeved shirt before Aunt Karen —
    But that plan slid down her brain pipe when Lucy rounded the corner from Second Street. The silver Toyota Celica with the Texas license plate was already parked in front of the house. Lucy peeled off her jacket and dropped it behind the century plant. Maybe if she slipped in the back door —
    “Lucy Elizabeth Rooney,” said a voice-like-a-supervisor. “What have you done to yourself now?”

3
    The meow that rose from behind the century plant didn’t sound as disgusted as Aunt Karen’s voice, even though Mudge emerged with Lucy’s jacket draped across him and only his disgruntled head sticking out.
    “Thank you, Mudge,” Lucy whispered to him as she snatched him up, jacket and all. “There’s a can of tuna for you later if you’ll hang with me now.”
    She snuggled him against her, careful to keep most of his coat-clad bulk over her arm, and whirled to face Aunt Karen. Her aunt had rounded the corner by then and stood by the fence, black-sweatered arms folded, hazel eyes squinting. Lucy hated it when she did that. She reminded herself to add it to the list of reasons Aunt Karen should move to Australia.
    “Hi,” Lucy said.
    “Don’t ‘hi’ me. What happened to your face?”
    Lucy held back a groan. As bad as it was stinging, it must look like someone had thrown a handful of rocks at her. Actually, someone kind of had.
    “I fell,” Lucy said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
    “You’re not the one looking at it.” Aunt Karen shook her head, sending one chin-length panel of dark hair against her cheek and another across her forehead. She jerked it out of her eyes. “What did you