A Whole Lot of Lucky by Danette Haworth, Cara Shores Page B

know what I’m talking about.
    I close the book and let it rest on my stomach. Then tears leak from my eyes, sliding into my hair and making wet spots on my bedspread. We
won
the lottery. Winning isn’t supposed to make you lose things.

Chapter 6
    I cried all night and Amanda had tears this morning when I spilled the news.
    â€œBut why?” she asked between blubbery sobs. “We’re an A school!”
    That’s true—I saw it on the school sign by the road.
    Amanda folded into her chair. The bell hadn’t rung yet, so I sank into the desk behind her. “But we have homeroom and lunch together. We’re going to be in Compass Club next year.”
    Her watery eyes look into mine.
    Lisa, the girl whose desk I’m sitting at, sees our tears. She lowers her backpack. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œShe’s moving to a different school.” Amanda’s voice cracks.
    Lisa bends down to Amanda with a look of puresympathy. “That’s terrible.” Everyone knows we are best friends. Then she asks me, “Where’re you going?”
    I pour as much glum as I can into my answer. I want her to pat my shoulder and make me feel better, too. “Magnolia.”
    â€œMagnolia!” Instead of consoling me, she congratulates me. She wants to know all about it. Then the bell rings and I go off to my own seat.
    The whole day I notice things I’ve taken for granted: the plastic red-shouldered hawk that looks out of the library window; the way the cafeteria lady says, “Enjoy your lunch”; the loud, happy voices in the hallway between classes. Magnolia won’t be like this. It’s a private school—that’s practically like going to a military academy.
    After school, when Amanda and I part ways on our bikes, she hugs me as if I’m moving overseas.
    That does it. They haven’t signed me away yet. I’m not going to Magnolia. I will inform Mom as soon as I get home. I ride my red boy bike home, slam it into the garage, and march into the house.
    â€œÂ¿Cómo te llamas? Buenos días. Buenos días. Buenosbuenosbuenos días”
    What the heck? The tangy scent of lemon bread greets me at the door. The smell is so powerful, especially when you know how the sugary lemony glaze tingles on your tongue, and your face can’t decide if it wants to screw up for the tartness or relax for thesweetness. The only way to decide is to take another bite. My mouth is already watering, but first, I must detect who the Spanish-speaking lady is.
    I slide my backpack to the floor, creep near the kitchen, and peek around the doorway to see who’s over. Using expert spy maneuvers, I angle my head and use my left eye as a periscope. Mom’s pouring hot lemon syrup from the frying pan over two yellow loaves of lemon bread. This is one of the rare cases in which you definitely want the heel because that’s where all the syrup ends up. Looking past her to the table, I see no one.
    â€œHola.”
    With precision swiftness, my laser eyes fall upon Libby. She’s examining a red, blue, yellow, and white toy with all kinds of whizbangs and buttons. It looks like fun.
    â€œHi, Mom,” I say, coming out from my hiding place. My eyes slide over that lemon bread.
    â€œNope!” She knows my plan. “Wait till it cools.”
    â€œHola,”
the toy says.
    â€œAa-ee! Aa-ee!” Libby’s smile makes her chubby cheeks even chubbier. She toddles toward me, waving her arms in excitement. Little pink shorts bloom over her diaper.
    â€œLibby!” I scoop her up and kiss her tummy. “Libby! Libby-Libby-Lou!” It tickles so much, she can hardly stand it. She shrieks with laughter and struggles at the same time.
    I set her down by the toy and mash a button. “Me
llamo
say your name.” The lady sounds very patient. I press the button again and wait for the cue. “Me
llamo”
“Hailee,” I fill in,