The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors Read Online Free

box.”
    Millie the babysitter laughed—Mary presumed from something funny that someone had said on the telephone, but Millie was laughing at Mary.
    Becca watched her mother pick up the strawberry note and slip it into her skirt pocket. Rowan descended the stairs dressed in a tweed blazer, white oxford shirt, and blue jeans. He held thepurple brooch. Seeing Mary, he said, “With a closet full of clothes, you’re wearing that?”
    She looked down at her green pleated skirt and black boots. “I look nice.”
    “Let’s go.”
    From the sofa Millie said, “Have fun.”
    Later, while Millie talked on the phone, Becca and Carrie ate popcorn and watched the
Late Night Friday Scarefest
. Becca showed Carrie her drawer of discarded watches. She said, “Sometimes I lose time—like, it should be five o’clock, but my watch says four forty-five, so I’m late, and it’s not my fault. Every day I lose a little more time, and then the watch just stops. It’s because of the lightning. No one cares. I get another watch.”
    “Your parents know?”
    “My dad says it’s something to do with the Communists. Did you see that note in my dad’s pocket?”
    “What note?”
    “It looked like there were strawberries on it.”
    “I didn’t see it.”
    “My mom took it.”
    “Whose note is it?”
    “It was in my dad’s pocket.”
    “She shouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t hers.” Carrie had that morality, that sensibility that Becca’s parents lacked. Becca stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. She didn’t want to talk anymore.
    Carrie was Becca’s first love. She counted Carrie’s eyelashes while she slept. She borrowed her striped tube socks. She asked a lot of questions, like “What did you do for your birthday last year?” to hear the sound of Carrie’s voice.
Never stop talking to me
.
    She told her mother, “Carrie is Sally, and I’m the girl with the naturally curly red hair. It’s hard to believe Peppermint Patty’s a girl,
sir
. Carrie thinks so too. Carrie thinks the Dallas Cowboysare the best football team in the world because of Tom Landry. She also likes the San Francisco 49ers, who have something to do with gold.”
    Becca’s mother said, “Carrie sounds very smart.”
    “She is.”
    Despite their family differences (Carrie’s parents were “blue collar”), the girls were, to quote Carrie’s dad, “two peas in a pod,” like “Martin and Lewis.” The girls said, “More like Sonny and Cher.”
    Carrie’s parents rented a bungalow close to campus, and before they’d even finished unpacking, Carrie was begging her parents to let her play soccer and take ballet. Becca, hopeful that Carrie’s parents would say yes, stood at her side. They held hands.
    Carrie’s dad, Pete, said, “I can’t be running you all over hell and creation.”
    Her mom said, “Your dad’s right, Carrie. Pick one thing. We both work, and there’s just not time. Pick one.”
    Carrie looked at Becca. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
    “Ballet. The clothes are better.”
    Carrie said, “Ballet,” and squeezed Becca’s hand. She squeezed back.
    Her dad said, “I’m glad that’s settled. Now go play in traffic.”
    All was fine and good with the Burkes and the Drinkwaters until the following March when talk of Chapel Hill’s annual dance recital intensified. It was a big deal. There were sequined costumes and shoes and pictures to be bought. The Drinkwaters couldn’t afford the costumes or the shoes. Carrie said, “My mom says a yellow sequined leotard is a waste. It’s ridiculously expensive.” Becca and Carrie sat at Mario’s Pizzeria eating pizza bread—bigger than a regular slice and cheaper too. Carrie was explaining that she couldn’t dance, not with how much everything cost; she was sorry, but she wasn’t going to be able to participate in the recital. Becca was listening, feeling sorry for Carrie—who always worried about her parents’ money situation—happy to get her school