Carswell's Guide to Being Lucky by Marissa Meyer Read Free Book Online

Carswell’s
    Guide to
    Being Lucky

    By Marissa Meyer

    Carswell dunked the comb beneath the faucet and slicked it through his hair, tidying the back so it
    was neat and pristine, and the front spike dup just right. Boots sat on the counter, watching him with
    her yellow slitted eyes and purring heavily, even though it had been nearly ten minutes since he’d
    stopped petting her.
    “Today’s goal,” he said to the cat, he supposed, or maybe the mirror, “is eighty-four univs. Think I
    can do it?”
    The cat blinked, still purring. Her tail twitched around her paws and Carswell turned off the water
    and set the comb beside her.
    “I’ve never made that much in one lunch hour before,” he said, pul ing a skinny blue tie over his
    head and cinching the knot against his neck, “but eight-four univs will put us at a total of 7,500. Which means-“ He flipped down the shirt collar, “-the bank wil upgrade my account to ‘young professional’
    and increase the monthly interest by 2%. That would trim nearly sixteen weeks off my five-year plan.”
    Carswell reached for the tie tack that lived in the small crystal dish beside the sink. The school
    uniform only allowed for personal style to show through in the smallest of accessories, which had led to
    a trend among the girls of tying little gems onto their shoes, and the boys of splurging on diamond-stud
    earrings. But Carswell had only this tie tack, which he’d dipped into his own savings for rather than ask his parents, because he knew his mom would insist he buy something tasteful (code: designer ) instead.
    It hadn’t been much of a setback. The tiny steel tack had cost merely fifteen univs, and it had since
    become his signature piece.
    A tiny spaceship. A 214 Rampion, to be exact.
    His mother, as expected, had hated the tie tack when she’d noticed it for the first time nearly two
    weeks later. “Sweetheart,” she’d said in that adoring tone that just bordered on condescending, “they
    have a whole display of spaceship accessories at Tiff’s. Why don’t we go down there after school and
    you can pick out something nice? Maybe a racer, or a fleet ship, or one of those vintage ones you used
    to like? Remember all those posters you had on your walls when you were little?”
    Returning her sweet smile, he’d responded simply, “I like the Rampions, Mom.”
    She’d grimaced. Literally grimaced. “What under the stars is a Rampion ship, anyway?”
    “Cargo ship,” his father had jumped in. “Mostly military, aren’t they, son?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “A cargo ship!” Exasperated, his mom had set her hands on her hips. “Why would you want a tie
    tack of a cargo ship, of all things?”
    “I don’t know,” he’d said, shrugging. “I just like them.”
    And he did. A Rampion had the bulk of a whale, but the sleekness of a shark, and it appealed to him.
    Plus, there was something nice about a ship that was purely utilitarian. Not flashy, not overdone, not
    luxurious. Not like every single thing his parents had ever purchased.
    They were just . . . useful.
    “Presentable?” Carswell said, scruffing Boots on the back of her neck. The cat ducked her head in a
    way that was almost authentic, and purred louder.
    Grabbing the gray uniform blazer off the door handle, he headed downstairs. His parents were both
    at the breakfast table (as opposed to the formal dining table in the next room), al eyes glued to their
    portscreens while Janette, one of the human maids, refilled their coffee mugs and added two sugars to
    his mom’s.
    “Good morning, young captain,” Jannette said, pul ing his chair out from the table.
    “Don’t call him that,” said Carswell’s father without looking up. “You can call him ‘captian’ after he
    earns it.”
    Janette only winked at Carswel while she took the blazer from him and hung it on the back of his
    chair.
    Carswell smiled back and sat down. “Morning, Janette,”
    “I’ll bring your pancakes right out.” She