Read Online The Year My Sister Got Lucky by Aimee Friedman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aimee Friedman
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urge to race down the hall, and slide into bed with my sister. Michaela was so exhausted after dinner that she could barely keep her eyes open, so she’d be furious if I woke her. She’s probably thrilled to have me out of her hair. No one to nag her awake at night, no babyishballet slippers to take closet space away from her toe shoes….
I sigh and turn over onto my back. Though I was looking forward to flipping on my light and reading in the middle of the night, I can’t. My old bedside lamp, when Dad pulled it out of its box, was split clean in two. There’s no ceiling fixture in my new room, so I had to use Mom’s weak flashlight to climb into bed. And the minute I shut the flashlight off, I learned something important.
There is no light in the country.
None.
Cars don’t drive by, and there are no streetlamps or tall buildings with other people awake inside. It’s like night falls and electricity ceases to exist.
But what about the moon?
On a mission now, I sit up and wipe my tears with the heels of my hands. I’ve been such a crying machine lately. Is this what moving does to people? I’m so used to being a tough city girl that this weird, weaker version of myself — the Katie that shrieks and does the crazy dance at the sight of mosquitoes — feels unfamiliar.
I lift Mom’s flashlight and flick it on. When my bare feet hit the icy wooden floor, I cringe. Stupidly, I’m wearing my city summer sleep outfit — boxers and my white tank. I have an image of myself in long johns, wearing a stocking cap on my head, and thatseems like a really good idea. If this is August in Fir Lake, I don’t want to know November.
With the halo of the flashlight guiding me, I make my way toward my window. Pushing aside the makeshift curtain that Mom hung for me — an old flowered bedsheet — I peer outside, trying to see past the driving rain. If there is a moon, I can’t make it out amid the heavy clouds and forks of lightning. There is, however, another small spot of light outside, and when I realize it’s coming from the blonde woman’s yellow house, I feel a shiver of intrigue. There’s a light on in her second-story window — her bedroom maybe? — and I can see a shadowy shape inside. A lone figure, sitting very still. What is this woman’s deal ? I’m always suspicious of fellow insomniacs. Maybe she’s planning something sinister. Maybe she’s waiting for her long-lost love to return home. Maybe —
“Katie?”
I drop the flashlight with a clatter and spin around to see my door half open. I’m certain it’s the neighbor lady, somehow transported to our house, but in the next instant, I realize it’s my sister.
“What are you doing?” Michaela asks, her voice soft as ever. She’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms (because she’s smart), and carrying a tray that bears two small candles — the flames flickering hopefully — and two white mugs. I’m so relieved to see her that I don’t stop to questionwhy she’s holding these things. In fact, I’m wondering if I’ve imagined her, that’s how deeply I was craving her presence.
“Me? I was — uh —” Spying on our neighbor sounds illegal, so I backtrack to my original goal. “Looking for the moon.”
“Let me help,” Michaela says, as if I’ve spoken the most normal phrase in the world. She pushes the door shut with her foot and sets the tray on the floor next to my bed. It’s amazing how soothing and warm the candlelight is, as opposed to the wild shapes of the flashlight. I reach down and shut it off as Michaela pads over to me in her gray socks.
“The clouds are too thick,” she murmurs as we both crane our necks. “No moon tonight.”
I feel a tremor of disappointment. Back home, I’d sometimes catch the moon — bent like a croissant, or round like a bowling ball — traveling between apartment buildings. But usually I didn’t think about its presence in the sky. And forget stars — I
I sigh and turn over onto my back. Though I was looking forward to flipping on my light and reading in the middle of the night, I can’t. My old bedside lamp, when Dad pulled it out of its box, was split clean in two. There’s no ceiling fixture in my new room, so I had to use Mom’s weak flashlight to climb into bed. And the minute I shut the flashlight off, I learned something important.
There is no light in the country.
None.
Cars don’t drive by, and there are no streetlamps or tall buildings with other people awake inside. It’s like night falls and electricity ceases to exist.
But what about the moon?
On a mission now, I sit up and wipe my tears with the heels of my hands. I’ve been such a crying machine lately. Is this what moving does to people? I’m so used to being a tough city girl that this weird, weaker version of myself — the Katie that shrieks and does the crazy dance at the sight of mosquitoes — feels unfamiliar.
I lift Mom’s flashlight and flick it on. When my bare feet hit the icy wooden floor, I cringe. Stupidly, I’m wearing my city summer sleep outfit — boxers and my white tank. I have an image of myself in long johns, wearing a stocking cap on my head, and thatseems like a really good idea. If this is August in Fir Lake, I don’t want to know November.
With the halo of the flashlight guiding me, I make my way toward my window. Pushing aside the makeshift curtain that Mom hung for me — an old flowered bedsheet — I peer outside, trying to see past the driving rain. If there is a moon, I can’t make it out amid the heavy clouds and forks of lightning. There is, however, another small spot of light outside, and when I realize it’s coming from the blonde woman’s yellow house, I feel a shiver of intrigue. There’s a light on in her second-story window — her bedroom maybe? — and I can see a shadowy shape inside. A lone figure, sitting very still. What is this woman’s deal ? I’m always suspicious of fellow insomniacs. Maybe she’s planning something sinister. Maybe she’s waiting for her long-lost love to return home. Maybe —
“Katie?”
I drop the flashlight with a clatter and spin around to see my door half open. I’m certain it’s the neighbor lady, somehow transported to our house, but in the next instant, I realize it’s my sister.
“What are you doing?” Michaela asks, her voice soft as ever. She’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and drawstring pajama bottoms (because she’s smart), and carrying a tray that bears two small candles — the flames flickering hopefully — and two white mugs. I’m so relieved to see her that I don’t stop to questionwhy she’s holding these things. In fact, I’m wondering if I’ve imagined her, that’s how deeply I was craving her presence.
“Me? I was — uh —” Spying on our neighbor sounds illegal, so I backtrack to my original goal. “Looking for the moon.”
“Let me help,” Michaela says, as if I’ve spoken the most normal phrase in the world. She pushes the door shut with her foot and sets the tray on the floor next to my bed. It’s amazing how soothing and warm the candlelight is, as opposed to the wild shapes of the flashlight. I reach down and shut it off as Michaela pads over to me in her gray socks.
“The clouds are too thick,” she murmurs as we both crane our necks. “No moon tonight.”
I feel a tremor of disappointment. Back home, I’d sometimes catch the moon — bent like a croissant, or round like a bowling ball — traveling between apartment buildings. But usually I didn’t think about its presence in the sky. And forget stars — I
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