Read Online Lucky Break by J. Minter - Free Book Online Page A

said. “And no damage to the bike, luckily. You’re not hurt, are you, sweetheart?”
    â€œJust a little shaken up,” I said, attempting to take off my helmet and realizing that I was actually a lot shaken up. “I’ll never make fun of Feb again for getting so many reckless-driving tickets. I had no idea it was so hard.”
    I felt my mom’s arms envelop me. “Darling, I think you just have a lot on your mind. Why not ride on the back of your father’s bike and just take in the sights?”
    I nodded and sighed. Riding my own bike around the curving coastline had seemed like such a good idea at the time—it was the kind of thing that would make a really great story to tell my friends, anyway.But it was actually a lot scarier than it looked. I took one last look at my enemy—the lamppost—and decided I’d be much happier riding tandem with my dad.
    After a quick exchange at the bike shop, we were down to two scooters, speeding out toward the shrine. I held on tight to my dad, feeling much more secure taking those hairpin turns. This was more like it!
    I’d woken up this morning to a surprise from my parents: breakfast in bed—a brimming bowl of strawberries; warm, crusty ciabatta and fresh butter; a pot of that fantastic Italian coffee—
and
the very good news that both of them were putting aside their business matters for the whole day. According to Dad, Mom’s vacation-only mandate had gone out the window when Nicoletta Dimore offered her a guest blogging spot reviewing a spa for her online zine.
    All morning, my parents had been jokingly referring to today as “Flan gets cultured,” which I only objected to slightly. I went to museums in the city! Sometimes. But my parents were clearly pretty serious about making the most of our day together. They’d really crammed in the sightseeing, starting with the ride out to this historic cathedral on the coast, moving right along to a boat cruise to the island of Capri, where we were going cheese tasting andshopping. Mom insisted that the stores in Capri gave Fifth Avenue a run for its money.
    I loved having my parents all to myself—and against such a beautiful backdrop, too. Looking around at the steep cliffs dropping down to all that crazy blue water, it was hard to believe that people actually lived here and got to see these views every day. But then again, I knew people said that about Manhattan all the time. Crap—I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Manhattan. It only led to me thinking about—
    â€œFlan,” my dad said. “We’re here.”
    Happy to be snapped out of my downward-spiraling thoughts, I hopped off the bike and joined my parents at the door of the cathedral. The hush inside the church was almost a shock to my system after spending so long listening to the roar of the bike, but once I stepped inside, I understood why everything was so quiet.
    The stained glass windows and old stone pews were so beautiful, they demanded a silent sort of reverence. I separated from my parents and walked through the church on my own, reading what signs I could find in English. It was actually really fun to try to make out some of the Italian using what I knew from French. When I came to the end of the dimly lit church, I pushed open the back door and was almoststartled by the intense sunlight flooding into the backyard. It was a small, irregularly shaped plot of grass at the tip of a crag on the cliff. A low stone fence was the only thing separating me from the drop-off into the sea. I had never seen anything so magnificent—and I’d been to a lot of fashion shows.
    â€œFlan,” my father’s voice whispered. “You have to see this Michelangelo.” He led me around to the side of the church, where a large marble sculpture was prominently positioned so that it absolutely glowed in the sun. I could tell it was a man’s body, but half of the