Genuine Sweet by Faith Harkey Read Free Book Online

obligatory sullenness.
    Secretly, I kind of liked writing essays for Mister Strickland. He let me think big thoughts on paper, and he underlined important ideas, making comments like, “Follow this rabbit down the warren and you’ll really have something.” I figured I might write this essay about the costs and benefits of devoting oneself to an education. For instance,
Cost:
Valuable cooking-channel-watching time is lost. Benefit: An education might well prepare one to be a chef with a show on the cooking channel.
    Â 
    Concerning the question of electric bills and wishes, I postponed my deliberations until lunch, seeing as how Mister Strickland would have a wide eyeball turned my way for the rest of the morning.
    Lunch was consternating for two reasons. First, the food was awful—but it was filling. To eat or not to eat? Given my circumstances, I believe you know the answer to
that
question. The other problem was a little hairier. See, there was this boy, Travis Tromp, same age as me but in a lower grade because he got held back.
    Travis fabled himself as a sort of rebel, but he wasn’t a very successful one. Far as I could tell, he was mostly just angry. About hunters
and
animal rights-ers, overgrown yards
and
code enforcers. Goodness forbid somebody expressed an opinion in front of him—he always took the other side. Loudly. And never by invitation. I think he tried to make himself unpleasant to be around. There were only two things in the world he liked: basil cigarettes and me. If the smell was any indication, basil cigarettes were as revolting as they sounded, but his ma was a seller of herbs and such, so I guess the stuff was lying around. Regarding the other, well, let’s just say I had my strategies.
    On this particular day, I waited outside the cafeteria door until Travis—wearing all black, as usual—sat down and started to eat. Then I found a seat that was blocked on both sides—by Donut on the right and Sonny on the left. (Sitting next to Sonny did give me warm shivers, but you won’t repeat that, will you?) Engirdled in that way, I opened my milk, opened my notebook, and wrote:
    Â 
Number of wishes I might fetch each week = ?
Amount of money I need to bring in weekly = ??
??
divided by ? = cost per wish
    Â 
    If only I knew for sure that I
could
fetch a wish! Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long for Jura’s biscuit to go to work. Missus Fuller’s gas had appeared overnight, after all.
    â€œMove,” said an all-too-familiar voice.
    â€œEat a turd, Travis,” Sonny replied. I fancied this was him sticking up for his right to sit by me. Warm shiver number two.
    â€œDon’t make me tell you, Donut.” Travis poked Donut in the shoulder.
    I don’t expect it would have really come to blows. Travis was actually kind of skinny, and I thought he kept his dark hair long mostly so he could hide behind it. But Donut sighed, gave me a look of mild apology, and went off to sit with Mister Strickland.
    â€œHey, baby.”
    And there I was, back with my lunch buddy, Mister Blackshirt Blackpants Blackington.
    â€œIf you respected me at all, Travis, you’d call me by my name,” I told him.
    â€œShore I respect you,
Genuine.
But a man thinks of his girl as ‘baby.’ It’s a habit.”
    I didn’t even acknowledge the “his girl” comment. “Like those noxious things you’re always smoking?”
    â€œI’d quit in a flash, if you asked me to.”
    I wasn’t going to be roped in. “I’m kind of busy right now, Travis.”
    Sonny broke in. “How’s life in the third grade, Travis?”
    â€œSixth.
Sixth
grade,” Mister Blackpants corrected. “Busy with what, sugar?”
    I rolled my eyes.
    Sonny sighed, loudly setting down his fork. “Mister Strickland asked me to clean the blackboards for him. If you’re not too busy, I could use a hand.” This invitation