Read Online Earth/Sky (Earth/Sky Trilogy) by Macaulay C. Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: Macaulay C. Hunter
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the boys laughed uproariously.
That night, my parents called. I choked down how I was really feeling to be enthusiastic for them. They sounded so excited and yet relaxed, not having the stress of traffic or grouchy bosses hanging over their heads. Grandpa Jack rattled around in the kitchen while I talked on the rotary phone to Dad and then Mom, who said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
What could I say? Even if this place was a total nightmare, my parents couldn’t do anything about it. And it was only a semi-nightmare. Being popular for hailing from Los Angeles helped, and very few of the students appeared to come from families making much more than mine. I said in a strong and reassuring voice, “I’m okay, Mom. I’m glad you guys are having such a good time.” Oh, how I wanted to be with them! Floating between the big blue sky and the big blue sea. When Mom came back talking about Machu Picchu, I’d only be able to return with the burping buddies.
“And how’s your Grandpa Jack?” Mom asked.
“He’s fine, too,” I replied. If that disco fish hadn’t been a memento from his late wife, I would have hurled it from a window by now. We didn’t have much to say to one another, Grandpa Jack and me, which made dinner uncomfortable when he muted the commercials. Fortunately, meals never lasted beyond two commercial breaks. He needed to branch out his diet. It consisted of beans and franks, bacon and eggs, hamburgers and fries, and macaroni and cheese. I was getting hungry for vegetables, but when I suggested adding Brussels sprouts to the menu, he said with approval that Gary’s Diner on the north end of Jacobo deep-fried them. Figuring this was a fairly unemotional and therefore harmless avenue of chat, I added, “Grandpa Jack thinks vegetables should be deep-fried.”
“Brings out their flavor,” Grandpa Jack rumbled from the other room.
“Oh, honey!” Mom said. “Pick up some greens and things at the store, for heaven’s sake! Tell your grandfather it won’t kill him to eat a carrot.”
“Mom says it won’t kill you to eat a carrot,” I called.
“It just might,” Grandpa Jack mused.
I talked to my parents for a while longer about school, and then they had to catch a bus to a museum. With cheery goodbyes, they hung up. I settled onto the love seat and watched the local news with Grandpa Jack. Small places had small stories, so once the world and national updates were over, it centered on rustic flavors of the Chamber of Commerce Volunteer of the Year award, a drug bust in someone’s house, a hotel getting a permit, and a new class on mushroom identification hosted by the Spooner’s Grand Garden Club.
“Lotus Cooper should teach that, if she honestly does know everything that grows in this area like you said,” I commented.
“Thought you said that she should be in school making friends and giggling about boys,” Grandpa Jack replied. I glared at the television, having meant it as a compliment and not to start an argument that I was right about anyway. Zakia was often out and about when I sat in my afternoon classes, clipping and trimming, emptying a planter with a rotted bottom and rolling it away. That was what the red X indicated, planters that were damaged beyond repair and had to be removed. The guy never broke a sweat! I was tired just from watching his exertions out the windows.
It was sad to think of all the high school experiences he was missing out on. That wasn’t fair. This wasn’t the third world. Thinking I should extend the invitation to the party at the reservoir if I saw him tomorrow, I ducked the fish on the way upstairs and went to bed. Without the patience to fight with the Internet, without a cell phone to connect me to humanity, I was going to bed earlier and earlier. Maybe I could just hibernate until June.
It was pathetic to go to sleep thinking o f a guy who had only come to school on Monday, but I thought about him regardless. The odd way Adriel startled
That night, my parents called. I choked down how I was really feeling to be enthusiastic for them. They sounded so excited and yet relaxed, not having the stress of traffic or grouchy bosses hanging over their heads. Grandpa Jack rattled around in the kitchen while I talked on the rotary phone to Dad and then Mom, who said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
What could I say? Even if this place was a total nightmare, my parents couldn’t do anything about it. And it was only a semi-nightmare. Being popular for hailing from Los Angeles helped, and very few of the students appeared to come from families making much more than mine. I said in a strong and reassuring voice, “I’m okay, Mom. I’m glad you guys are having such a good time.” Oh, how I wanted to be with them! Floating between the big blue sky and the big blue sea. When Mom came back talking about Machu Picchu, I’d only be able to return with the burping buddies.
“And how’s your Grandpa Jack?” Mom asked.
“He’s fine, too,” I replied. If that disco fish hadn’t been a memento from his late wife, I would have hurled it from a window by now. We didn’t have much to say to one another, Grandpa Jack and me, which made dinner uncomfortable when he muted the commercials. Fortunately, meals never lasted beyond two commercial breaks. He needed to branch out his diet. It consisted of beans and franks, bacon and eggs, hamburgers and fries, and macaroni and cheese. I was getting hungry for vegetables, but when I suggested adding Brussels sprouts to the menu, he said with approval that Gary’s Diner on the north end of Jacobo deep-fried them. Figuring this was a fairly unemotional and therefore harmless avenue of chat, I added, “Grandpa Jack thinks vegetables should be deep-fried.”
“Brings out their flavor,” Grandpa Jack rumbled from the other room.
“Oh, honey!” Mom said. “Pick up some greens and things at the store, for heaven’s sake! Tell your grandfather it won’t kill him to eat a carrot.”
“Mom says it won’t kill you to eat a carrot,” I called.
“It just might,” Grandpa Jack mused.
I talked to my parents for a while longer about school, and then they had to catch a bus to a museum. With cheery goodbyes, they hung up. I settled onto the love seat and watched the local news with Grandpa Jack. Small places had small stories, so once the world and national updates were over, it centered on rustic flavors of the Chamber of Commerce Volunteer of the Year award, a drug bust in someone’s house, a hotel getting a permit, and a new class on mushroom identification hosted by the Spooner’s Grand Garden Club.
“Lotus Cooper should teach that, if she honestly does know everything that grows in this area like you said,” I commented.
“Thought you said that she should be in school making friends and giggling about boys,” Grandpa Jack replied. I glared at the television, having meant it as a compliment and not to start an argument that I was right about anyway. Zakia was often out and about when I sat in my afternoon classes, clipping and trimming, emptying a planter with a rotted bottom and rolling it away. That was what the red X indicated, planters that were damaged beyond repair and had to be removed. The guy never broke a sweat! I was tired just from watching his exertions out the windows.
It was sad to think of all the high school experiences he was missing out on. That wasn’t fair. This wasn’t the third world. Thinking I should extend the invitation to the party at the reservoir if I saw him tomorrow, I ducked the fish on the way upstairs and went to bed. Without the patience to fight with the Internet, without a cell phone to connect me to humanity, I was going to bed earlier and earlier. Maybe I could just hibernate until June.
It was pathetic to go to sleep thinking o f a guy who had only come to school on Monday, but I thought about him regardless. The odd way Adriel startled
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