Box of Shocks by Chris McMahen Read Free Book Online Page A

lose my grip on the beam. I try to grab something—anything—but gravity takes over.
    The next three seconds are the longest three seconds of my life.
    As I fall, I’m laid out flat. If I hit the water like this, it’ll be the belly flop that was heard around the world. How painful will that be?
    Then, just like they taught us in diving lessons, I quickly pull my knees up to my chest, tuck in my chin, and somersault in the air. When it feels like I’m the right way up, I straighten my body out.
    I hit the water feet first. Water shoots up my nose, my arms are thrown up above my head, and my swim trunks give me a giant wedgie.
    I don’t care. Thanks to my diving lessons, I didn’t do the world’s biggest belly flop.
    But now, I’m deep under the water with bubbles swirling around me. Maybe I should have done a belly flop. My feet haven’t touched bottom, and it’s dark. Really dark. I look up and see the wobbly glimmer of the sun through the water.
    I need air, so I’d better get to the surface, and fast, or else…
    I flail my arms and legs…kicking and thrashing… thrashing and kicking…the light getting brighter by the second…my chest feeling like it’s about to burst…kicking and thrashing…thrashing and kicking…until…my head breaks the surface! I gasp for air, panting and puffing and trying to keep my head above water.
    I swim toward the shore, thrashing my arms and legs, but by the time I reach the riverbank, I’ve been swept downriver and the bridge is out of sight. I flop onto some grass, with my arms over my head as I try to catch my breath. My body feels like a huge blob of Jell-O—except for my right hand, which is still tightly clenched. I slowly uncurl my fingers. There, in the palm of my hand, is the bolt.

Six
    T he bolt’s not going to leave my hand until it’s inside my Box of Shocks. Not even for a second.
    After hiking back through the bushes to the beach, I grab my flip-flops, jump on Stuart’s old bike and ride all the way back to the farm. I hold on to the handlebars with my left hand. My right hand is still clutching the bolt.
    Stuart follows on his new bike, yammering the whole way. “You sure were lucky the police didn’t stop when you jumped off the bridge, Oliver. Maybe they didn’t see you, or they were on a call to something more important like a bank robbery or something. Did you hear me, Oliver?”
    Stuart can babble on all he likes. All I can think about is my deadliest stunt yet, and how I’m going to be adding this amazing shock to my Box of Shocks.
    I consider putting the bolt in my left hand or in my pocket, but I don’t trust my left hand as much as my right, and there might be holes in my pocket. No, the bolt will stay in my right hand until it’s safely inside my Box of Shocks. That’s all there is to it.
    At supper that night, I’m still clutching the bolt when I sit down for supper with Uncle Ned, Aunt Jean and Stuart. This makes eating a little awkward, but I don’t care.
    â€œYou know, it’s a lot easier to eat corn on the cob if you use both hands, Oliver,” Aunt Jean says.
    â€œIt’s okay, Aunt Jean. I always find that corn tastes better if you eat it with one hand.”
    Aunt Jean’s eyebrows wag up and down. She and Mom are very different, but one thing they do share is pickiness about table manners.
    After supper it’s always my job to clear the table. Because I’m using just one hand, I have to make twice as many trips to the kitchen. Stuart rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. If he did squeal to his mom and dad about me jumping off the Pegasus Valley Bridge, Aunt Jean would blame him for letting me do such a dangerous thing in the first place. For his own good, Stuart knows the best thing is to keep his mouth shut.
    That night I wrap my right hand in Scotch tape so I won’t lose my grip