Angel Creek by Sally Rippin Read Free Book Online Page A

at her parents, waiting to see what they would say.
    â€˜That’s nice,’ said Mum, helping herself to the zeppole .
    Jelly breathed out.
    â€˜It’s true,’ Pik said, ignoring Gino and pushing away the forkful of lasagne Zia Pia was trying to sneak into his mouth. ‘We found it in the creek. Last night.’
    â€˜You kids haven’t been taking Pik down to the creek, have you?’ Zia Pia said. ‘You know he can’t swim. And there was that boy who drowned—’ ‘Jelly’s not going to let them go near the water,’ Jelly’s mum interrupted. ‘They’re perfectly safe—’ ‘I’m not having my kids wandering down by the creek—’ ‘Pik’s just making up stories,’ said Gino. ‘Aren’t you, Pik?’ Then he hissed, ‘Just like a kid who wants to stay with his baby sister would.’
    Pik’s face crumpled and he looked down at his plate. ‘Anyway,’ he said quietly, to no one in particular. ‘I drew it a picture. Father Christmas and his goats.’
    Gino snorted. ‘Reindeer, dummy. They’re not goats. And anyway, there’s no such thing as Father Christmas.’
    â€˜ Gino ,’ Zio Mario warned.
    â€˜It’s true,’ Gino sulked. ‘And he knows it, too.’
    â€˜If Pik wants to believe in Father Christmas or angels or anything else for that matter, you shouldn’t spoil it for him,’ Zia Pia scolded, wiping Sophia’s mouth with a cloth.
    â€˜Some Christmas,’ Gino muttered under his breath.
    â€˜Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Gino.’ His dad’s face darkened. ‘What, you think this is all about you? With your nonna in the hospital and your mum worried sick—’ ‘
    Hey,’ Jelly’s dad said gently. ‘It’s been a hard time for all of us. And Gino’s right. It’s not been much of a Christmas. Especially for the kids.’
    Jelly gave her dad a grateful smile but Gino just picked at the tablecloth, his face dark and brooding.

10
    the broken wing
    After coffee, everyone vanished. The house was instantly quiet. Jelly, Gino and Pik slipped out the back door.
    â€˜Are we going to see the angel?’ Pik said, bouncing alongside them. ‘Are we? Are we?’
    â€˜Shut up, Pik,’ Gino snapped. ‘You’re lucky you’re even coming with us after what you said at lunch.’
    â€˜Give him a break,’ Jelly said. ‘It’s not like they believed him.’
    Gino glared at them and marched ahead.
    On Ivy Street there was no one around. They heard the crack of a ball against a cricket bat then hoots of laughter coming from someone’s backyard. Other houses let out the steady drone of overworked air conditioners. Jelly pictured kids playing with their Christmas presents and parents stuffed like turkeys, snoozing on couches. That was what her family would usually be doing.
    They slipped under the fence and dashed across the blazing schoolyard. Gino pushed open the door and a blast of heat emptied from the shed.
    â€˜Yuck,’ said Pik. ‘I’m not going in there.’
    â€˜Oh, the poor angel,’ Jelly said.
    Gino and Jelly tiptoed into the stuffy darkness, to the corner where the angel was lying like a crumpled mat.
    Jelly crouched beside it. The angel was panting shallowly. She placed her hand on its clammy forehead, but it didn’t open its eyes this time. A sour milky smell hovered around it. One wing was spread out across the floor, the other one, the bandaged one, was tucked in tight along the angel’s spine. A dirty yellow liquid was oozing from a dark patch of dried blood. The sour smell was coming from its wound. She pulled out a strawberry from her pocket and held it under the angel’s nose. It didn’t stir.
    â€˜We have to do something. I think its wing might be infected.’
    Gino leaned in to look, but jerked back when