Lucky Breaks by Susan Patron Read Free Book Online

fingers—“and plop the chocolate on”—Lucky handed him a small square of Hershey bar—“while it’s still hot so the marshmallow melts it, and another graham cracker on top. But you have to be very careful or you’ll burn your fingers for sure.” Miles took his eyes off this project (it required quite a lot of concentration in order to keep any of the ingredients from falling off ) to see if Brigitte was paying attention.
    “Okay,” she said seriously, poking a marshmallow onto her own skewer, “now I do one.”
    Miles blew on his little sandwichy dessert, took a small bite, and said to Brigitte, “Bet you don’t know why they’re called s’mores.”
    Brigitte turned her marshmallow carefully. “I think it is named for a certain region of America,” she said, “which is famous for its desserts.”
    Lucky laughed. “No,” she said, “it’s—”
    “Wait! Don’t tell her!” Miles shouted. “Guess again, Brigitte! S’mores !” He pronounced the word exaggeratedly, as a hint.
    “It’s named for Captain Smor,” Lincoln said, “who was known for fighting duels with barbecue skewers.”
    Miles glared at Lincoln, saw that he was teasing, and rapped his skewer against the Weber. “Lincoln, be serious. I’m trying to help Brigitte get more American! She really needs to know stuff like about s’mores.”
    “Okay,” Lincoln said. “You’re right. Go ahead and tell her the real truth.”
    Miles shouted, “Because you always want s’more!”
    Brigitte frowned. She didn’t get it. This, to Lucky, was a perfect example of why it was so hard for Brigitte to learn how to become more American. It was because of the way that Brigitte thought like a French person, in a logical, orderly way. In Lucky’s opinion, when it came to something like s’mores, you had to be able to think in a way that was a little bit silly.
    Miles explained, “Because you want some more . S’more! Now do you get it?”
    “Ah!” Brigitte said, and she laughed, her eyes reflecting the light from the Weber’s low flames. “Of course, now I do,” she said. “You are right to teach me this amusing name, Miles, and I am glad to have such a clever teacher for becoming more American.”
    “They tested him out at the school,” Mrs. Prender shouted. “Said his IQ is genius level.” Lucky wasn’t surprised. Miles had told her about the testing, which he’d actually enjoyed. Now that Miles knew how to read, he suddenly seemed to be able to readanything. He loved the Henry and Mudge series, but he also read much harder books. His recent favorite was a book called Brain Surgery for Beginners .
    “ Plus , I’m turning six next Sunday,” Miles said, as if being a genius and having a birthday at the same time were a special, lifetime achievement. “And the day after that is Lucky’s birthday, and she’ll be eleven. I wish we could have a big party.”
    Lucky smiled. She knew that Brigitte had already started making plans for a combined party.
    “Big, like how big?” Lincoln said.
    Lucky shrugged. “Oh, all of us plus your parents,” she said.
    “No,” Miles said. “It should be everyone! A great big enormous party! We should invite the whole entire town of Hard Pan!”

10. big, big wishes
    “You know we can’t, Miles,” Mrs. Prender bellowed. “We talked already. I can’t do with a lot of people at my place. It’s too small, and I can’t afford it anyway.”
    “But I’m finally turning six !” Miles explained patiently, as if his grandmother just wasn’t getting the point. “If you add us up, Lucky and I are turning seventeen !”
    Lucky wondered what kind of celebration most eleven-year-old birthday girls would want, and decided probably not a combined party with a cute, very stubborn, genius-IQ six-year-old. Suddenly she saw herself in a fancy ski lodge at Mammoth Lakes with high ceilings and candles. She was wearing her hair in a gorgeous swept-back way so it didn’t have its usual garden hedge