Icy Sparks by Gwyn Hyman Rubio Read Free Book Online Page A

with God’s awful love. I burned and burned and burned until my skin withered and my lips cracked. I boiled until my mind dissolved and lost its shape. My thoughts rose upward and evaporated like steam. I burned until there was nothing left. Just Icy Sparks. Ice sparking flames. And no one’s tender care, not even my grandparents’, could bring me back to me.
    Then, one morning, a bright red cardinal landed on my windowsill and chirped loudly. I was drawn to him. His beak smiled, and his eyes twinkled. Then, like scarlet flames, in a whirl of red, he fluttered away, taking all of the heat in my room, all the fire in my body with him.
    Weak, I inched up on my elbows and slung my legs over the edge of the bed. When my feet touched the cold floor, I smiled. “Matanni,” I said aloud mostly to myself, “what’s for breakfast?”

Chapter 4
    I felt sweat trickling down my forehead. The hair around my face was wet, but this time it wasn’t fever. The tenacious midday heat had turned the grass yellow. Beside the toolshed, the limbs of the crab apple tree drooped. Even the dogwood leaves were brown, curling up like strips of fried bacon. Eager to cool off and forget my worries, I decided to go to the springhouse for a tin cup of cold water when I heard the rumble of tires over gravel. I perched my palms over my eyes and saw whirlwinds of dust and the glow of bright red metal. The red Chevy veered to the left, its back tires screeching, spun onto our rutted driveway, and jerked to a stop at the top of the hill. Miss Emily pounded the horn, poked her head out the window, and yelled, “Icy Gal, come over here and help me.”
    I squinted into the sun. “I reckon I have the energy,” I yelled back, then plodded down the steps and shuffled toward the car.
    Miss Emily shoved open the door and extended a barrel-sized leg. “Yesterday, your grandpa dropped by. Said you were here by your lonesome, recovering from the flu. I just had to check in on you.”
    â€œWho’s minding the store?” I asked, reaching over with both of my hands. I grabbed her left hand and pulled. Swaying forward slightly, she lost her balance and fell back, scrunching again into the seat. “Please try!” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my shirt.
    â€œJohnny Cake.” She brushed her brow with a white lace handkerchief, breathed in deeply, and added, “He loves being important, and I love giving him the chance. Right now, I’m awfully busy with other things, collecting money for the volunteer fire department and helping the library decide what new books to buy.”
    â€œGive me both hands,” I said.
    Miss Emily stretched out both arms. Her palms were slippery with perspiration.
    â€œI’m gonna count to three,” I said. “One…two…three.” I jerked back, straining so hard that my face turned beet red, and held firm.
    Miss Emily, a huge redwood, oscillated forward, both of her shoes swallowing dirt, then stood upright. “Whew!” she said, shaking. “That was tough.”
    â€œI ain’t gonna be your walking cane,” I said. “I’m too tuckered out.”
    â€œI didn’t ask you, did I?” Indignantly she tossed back her head, inhaled deeply, and began trudging toward the house. “So you’ve recovered?” she said, looking at me sideways.
    â€œI ain’t got no fever,” I said.
    â€œI don’t have a fever,” she corrected me. “You’re from these hills, but you don’t have to talk like it. It’s time you talked right. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?”
    â€œOf course not,” I said. “I like talking hillbilly. Everyone speaks this way.”
    â€œYour speech will mark you for life,” she snapped. “If you don’t change it, it’ll hold you back. You won’t become the person I know you can be.”
    As we walked, I