Lucky T by Kate Brian Read Free Book Online Page A

test on the table in front of her. Carrie sneaked a peek. Marni had gotten a B+. If Marni had pulled off a B+, that meant Carrie had to have gotten at least a--
    D?
    Carrie stared down at the paper that had just been dropped in front of her. There were red marks everywhere. It was as if Mr. Dumas's main heart artery had hemorrhaged while he was grading her test. The D had been circled and underlined and had arrows pointing to it, apparently indicating that her work was beyond dismall and disappointing and other negative adjectives beginning with the fourth letter in the alphabet. Carrie was absolutely shocked. She had never gotten a D in her life!
    "See me after class," Mr. Dumas said before walking away.
    Carrie slumped in her seat, tossing the rabbit's foot and her attached keys into her backpack in disgust. She should have known this would happen.
    The lucky T was shining its light somewhere else, and obviously the straight-A Carrie Fitzgerald was history.
    That afternoon Carrie walked into her room loaded down with books for the extra-credit project Dumas had strongly suggested that she complete to bring up her grade. Immediately Carrie sensed that something was wrong--again. Then she saw it. The tiny, yel ow, motionless body of Fido, her beloved fish, was lying on the floor in front of his aquarium. Carrie rushed over and dropped to her knees, but it was too late. Fido had jumped from his bowl. He had committed fish suicide.
    "Carrie!" her mother called up the stairs. "I bought Fido some more fish food. Come down and get it."
    Carrie let out an apathetic sigh, got up, and carried Fido into the bathroom. She wrapped him up in toilet paper and placed him in the bowl. Feeling numb, she stood back to say a few words.
    "I'm sorry, Fido. If I had taken better care of my lucky T, none of this would have happened."
    She reached for the flusher, then cringed and closed the bowl lid before sending him off to his watery grave. Carrie had walked back into her bedroom, feeling more alone than ever, when suddenly her cell phone began vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the caller ID.
    It read: Dear Ol' Dad.
    Even through her misery, Carrie's heart executed a little backflip, just as it did whenever her dad called. In fact, she was a bit more excited than usual.
    She was thinking about him seconds ago and he called her practically at the same time. That had to be a good sign. It was as if the planets in the universe were aligning again.
    Carrie hit the talk button and smiled. "Hey, Dad!"
    "Hey, Carrie Ann. How's everything?" he asked.
    "Fine," Carrie lied. It wouldn't do any good to upset him with the weird and unsettling truth. "How're you?"
    "Okay, but I have some bad news," he said.
    Carrie sat down on the edge of her bed. Of course you do, she thought. Is there any other kind now?
    "I know that we had plans for a father-daughter weekend, but a bunch of pilots have come down with this bizarre bird flu and the rest of us need to pick up the slack," he said. "So unfortunately I have to go to Tokyo instead."
    "Tokyo?" Carrie was stunned. She hadn't seen her father in almost a year. And he had promised he would come to San Francisco for some quality bonding time. There might have even been a "no matter what" attached.
    "I'm really sorry, kiddo," he said.
    Carrie bit her lip. "But Dad, I--"
    "I know, I know," her father said, cutting her off. "It's been a while, honey, and I miss you like crazy. I'll come out and visit as soon as I possibly can. I've just been having some really bad luck lately."
    Carrie slid from the bed to the floor and closed her eyes. She knew all too wel where her dad was coming from, but she couldn't bring herself to confide in him about losing the lucky T. She also couldn't bring herself to tell him how badly she needed him to be a more constant fixture in her life.
    Sporadic phone call s, letters, and e-mails just weren't enough. Carrie wanted a close relationship with her dad more than