Read Online Deadweather and Sunrise by Geoff Rodkey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Geoff Rodkey
Ads: Link
you silly.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Mr. Percy, why don’t you accompany us back to the house?” asked Pembroke. “I’m sure Millicent’s tutor would be delighted to exchange professional wisdom with you.”
“Wonderful,” said Percy, his eyes showing dread. Unless Millicent’s tutor was a complete fraud as well, this probably wasn’t going to go well for him.
As we all started back toward the house, I turned around for one last look at the balloon, swaying on its tethers hundreds of feet in the sky.
Don’t come down,
I thought to myself.
MILLICENT AND I went back to the croquet pitch. We began a new game, and she quickly started trouncing me.
Worse, without Adonis and Venus to knock heads against, our conversation turned stiff and awkward. My brain had gone back into a cramp, and I struggled to put together even the stupidest answer to her stream of questions.
“So your father’s got a plantation? Does that make him a farmer? Or a planter? Is there a difference? What do you plant?”
“Don’t… plant… anything.”
“How’s that possible? You must plant something. It’s a plantation! Or perhaps it’s just a ruse. Are you really engaged in something else? Something secret and dastardly? Are you pirates after all?”
“No, no…” I was getting all flustered, not just because of my brain cramp but because I couldn’t figure out how to stand between turns—whether to prop my mallet over my shoulder, or set it down and lean against it, or cross my arms with the head sticking up over the crook of one elbow.
I tried all three. None of them felt right. Trying to find a fourth option, I dropped the mallet on my foot. Millicent watched me with a kind of amused suspicion.
“I think you are. Look at you—you’re hiding something. I’m going to have Daddy take this up with the garrison commander. They’ll get to the bottom of it. Torture you if they have to. We’ll flush you out, you dirty criminals.”
“No, look… it’s already planted. You just pick the fruit.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere! What kind of fruit?”
I sighed. “Ugly fruit.”
“Eeew. What’s that?”
“Just a fruit.”
“Strange name. Who wants to eat something called ugly fruit? What’s it like? Tell me. Is it reeeeeally ugly?”
“I guess so. It’s sort of big and lumpy.”
“How’s it taste?”
“I don’t know. Like a… boring orange.”
“That’s funny. Do you pick it yourselves? You and your brother and sister?”
“No. Well, they don’t. I do, a bit. Mostly we’ve got field hands. Just… well, they don’t all have hands.”
She looked at me curiously, leaning lightly on her mallet. I made a note to stand that way myself the next time.
“The field hands don’t have hands?”
“Some of them. It’s complicated.”
“You’re not like them, are you?”
“The field hands?”
“No. Your brother and sister. You don’t even look like them. Your hair’s lighter. It’s curly, too. And you’re missing that big horse nose they all have. And your name! How did
that
happen?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my fault.” I suddenly felt like pushing her over.
“Don’t get mad. I didn’t say it was.”
“I don’t like my name.”
“So what do people call you?”
“Egbert.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“So?”
“You should come up with something you like.”
“You can’t change your name.”
“Course you can. Give yourself a nickname. Like Egg. Or Bert. Or Grumpy.”
I passed her as she said this, on my way to my ball, and she gave me a playful shove on the shoulder. Her touch made my stomach flutter—I both liked it and didn’t like it at the same time.
“Do you fancy any of those? I mean, not Grumpy. Obviously.”
“Egg’s all right.”
“All right, then. You’re Egg. ‘Hello, Egg!’ How’s that sound?”
My ball was in a tough spot. To reach the next wicket, I’d somehow have to get around hers. Between working out all the angles of the
“I don’t mind.”
“Mr. Percy, why don’t you accompany us back to the house?” asked Pembroke. “I’m sure Millicent’s tutor would be delighted to exchange professional wisdom with you.”
“Wonderful,” said Percy, his eyes showing dread. Unless Millicent’s tutor was a complete fraud as well, this probably wasn’t going to go well for him.
As we all started back toward the house, I turned around for one last look at the balloon, swaying on its tethers hundreds of feet in the sky.
Don’t come down,
I thought to myself.
MILLICENT AND I went back to the croquet pitch. We began a new game, and she quickly started trouncing me.
Worse, without Adonis and Venus to knock heads against, our conversation turned stiff and awkward. My brain had gone back into a cramp, and I struggled to put together even the stupidest answer to her stream of questions.
“So your father’s got a plantation? Does that make him a farmer? Or a planter? Is there a difference? What do you plant?”
“Don’t… plant… anything.”
“How’s that possible? You must plant something. It’s a plantation! Or perhaps it’s just a ruse. Are you really engaged in something else? Something secret and dastardly? Are you pirates after all?”
“No, no…” I was getting all flustered, not just because of my brain cramp but because I couldn’t figure out how to stand between turns—whether to prop my mallet over my shoulder, or set it down and lean against it, or cross my arms with the head sticking up over the crook of one elbow.
I tried all three. None of them felt right. Trying to find a fourth option, I dropped the mallet on my foot. Millicent watched me with a kind of amused suspicion.
“I think you are. Look at you—you’re hiding something. I’m going to have Daddy take this up with the garrison commander. They’ll get to the bottom of it. Torture you if they have to. We’ll flush you out, you dirty criminals.”
“No, look… it’s already planted. You just pick the fruit.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere! What kind of fruit?”
I sighed. “Ugly fruit.”
“Eeew. What’s that?”
“Just a fruit.”
“Strange name. Who wants to eat something called ugly fruit? What’s it like? Tell me. Is it reeeeeally ugly?”
“I guess so. It’s sort of big and lumpy.”
“How’s it taste?”
“I don’t know. Like a… boring orange.”
“That’s funny. Do you pick it yourselves? You and your brother and sister?”
“No. Well, they don’t. I do, a bit. Mostly we’ve got field hands. Just… well, they don’t all have hands.”
She looked at me curiously, leaning lightly on her mallet. I made a note to stand that way myself the next time.
“The field hands don’t have hands?”
“Some of them. It’s complicated.”
“You’re not like them, are you?”
“The field hands?”
“No. Your brother and sister. You don’t even look like them. Your hair’s lighter. It’s curly, too. And you’re missing that big horse nose they all have. And your name! How did
that
happen?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my fault.” I suddenly felt like pushing her over.
“Don’t get mad. I didn’t say it was.”
“I don’t like my name.”
“So what do people call you?”
“Egbert.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“So?”
“You should come up with something you like.”
“You can’t change your name.”
“Course you can. Give yourself a nickname. Like Egg. Or Bert. Or Grumpy.”
I passed her as she said this, on my way to my ball, and she gave me a playful shove on the shoulder. Her touch made my stomach flutter—I both liked it and didn’t like it at the same time.
“Do you fancy any of those? I mean, not Grumpy. Obviously.”
“Egg’s all right.”
“All right, then. You’re Egg. ‘Hello, Egg!’ How’s that sound?”
My ball was in a tough spot. To reach the next wicket, I’d somehow have to get around hers. Between working out all the angles of the
Similar Books
