Heaven Sent by Clea Hantman Read Free Book Online

sister was giggling . Obviously she’d had a better day than she’d let on. “What’s up with you?” I asked, taking a closer look at her.
    “Nothing. I just like school, that’s all. You know, the books and stuff.” The light sprinkling of freckles on her nose stood out against her pale, flawless skin. She looked practically radiant.
    “Yeah, I know,” I mumbled, but I didn’t. I mean, I liked learning, I guess. Really I liked knowing the answers. I liked being smart. And I’m sure Polly did, too. But she seemed happier than the kind of happy one gets over books. You know how book happy is an inner, private happy that makes you feel warm, cozy, and smart? Well, Polly seemed to be carrying around a whole boatload of happy on the outside. But, I told myself, Polly has a mind all her own. Who knows what’s going on inside her head?
    Two guys in a fancy red chariot slowed down in front of us to scream: “Era! Era! Meet us at the Varsity!”
    “Who was that?” asked Polly, shocked.
    “Some boys I met today in Latin. Cute, huh?”
    “I couldn’t tell,” Polly said. “What’s the Varsity?”
    “It’s another one of those places that makes food for you,” I said, because I knew. Claire had told me all the hot spots for people watching and good food that you don’t have to cook yourself.
    “Well, then, let’s go there,” said Era. In case you haven’t guessed, boys and food are Era’s two favorite things. “Please, let’s go there, please.”
    “Tomorrow. Today we’re trying the market,” Pollysaid sternly.
    “You said tomorrow we could go to Weaver D’s,” I cried.
    “Fine, tomorrow Weaver D’s, the day after we will go to the Varsity!”
    “How come you are dictating what we do?” asked Era.
    “Because you, my dear sister, are the youngest, and Thalia, well, Thalia is the most irresponsible of us three and, face it, prone to flights of fancy. Had I taken charge back on Olympus, really taken hold of the reins myself, I dare say we wouldn’t be here right now.”
    “Are you really sure I’m more irresponsible than Era?” I asked, smiling at Era.
    “Pretty sure,” said Polly.
    “Thanks, I guess,” said Era.
    And for some reason, we all just started laughing. That silly sister laugh that comes from knowing one another too well.
    Outside the store a few minutes later, we watched an older humpbacked woman grab a metal pushcart and wheel it inside, so Polly did the same. “I’ll assume you fill this up with food?” she asked, but neither of us answered. Like we knew.
    The inside of the market was dizzying. I had never before seen so much stuff. Even Daddy’s cook’s kitchen didn’t have one-seventieth this much food.At least I thought it was food. Frankly, outside of the fruits and vegetables, it all looked foreign and inedible to me.
    Polly took charge. “Okay, let’s start with what we know. Apples, oranges, pears, plums. Oh, there is grapefruit over there. Grab a few of those, Era, would you?”
    “Look,” I said. “They got carrots. How do you think we cook ’em?”
    “I don’t know. We will just put them in a pot and cook them. I’m sure it will be delicious. Grab a bunch.”
    Onward we pushed to an aisle labeled Breakfast. There were boxes and boxes lining the shelves, each one with a different picture on it. Era loved these boxes. She wanted four or five. None of us had any idea how they would taste. But more important, Polly didn’t know how to cook them, and I surely didn’t. That’s when Era marched up to a handsome young man and asked, “Sir, excuse me, how does one cook this?”
    “You’re kidding, right?” he asked back.
    “No, why, is that funny?”
    “Is this some sort of high school prank?” he asked her again.
    “I don’t think so, and why are we talking in questions?” she asked. “I’m not from Georgia, and we don’t have these boxes where I am from. Is it hard to cook?”
    He laughed. Like out loud and from the gut. “You don’t cook