Free The Fourteenth Goldfish by Jennifer Holm

sells hair accessories. A puzzle with a picture of a unicorn (one thousand pieces). And a cell phone! There’s even a cute case: pink with glitter.
    “Finally!” I say. “Thanks!”
    My mom smiles. “Use it wisely.” She adds, “Don’t go over your minutes.”
    My grandfather hands me his present. It’s a big box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a white bow. I tear the paper away and gasp in delight.
    “A microscope!”
    “It’s a good one, practically professional,” my grandfather says.
    I stare at the box. It feels like I’ve been officially ushered into a secret society of scientists.
    My grandfather points out the features. “Binocular eyepiece. Halogen light. Four objective lenses. Of course, I’ll teach you how to use it.”
    “Thank you,” I tell him, and my throat feels thick. “This is the best present ever!”
    “Well, good,” he says, a little gruffly. “I’m glad you like it.”
    My mom watches this byplay with a funny look. “I thought the cell phone would be the best present ever.”
    After dinner, the waiter brings out a cake. There are thirteen candles—twelve pink ones plus a rainbow candle to grow on. The whole restaurant sings “Happy Birthday” to me.
    I lean in and blow out my candles. One refuses to go out and it takes three times before it’s finally out.
    That night, I fall asleep dreaming of candles. Hundreds of candles. They burn on and on, bright and defiant.
    Never going out.

My grandfather walks into the kitchen a few mornings later carrying a bottle of pain pills. He pours a glass of water and pops a handful of pills.
    “Are you okay?” I ask him.
    He’s pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t look good.
    “I’m having growing pains,” he grits out,pointing to his legs. “The
T. melvinus
must be regenerating my bones.”
    “Does it hurt a lot?” I ask.
    “Let’s just say I know what it felt like to be tortured on the rack.”
    My dad’s back in town for the weekend. He appears at our front door after lunch, wearing worn-out jeans and a black T-shirt and carrying his toolbox.
    “Dad!” I shout, and fling myself at him.
    “Reporting for duty,” he tells me, holding up his toolbox. “I hear there’s a toilet that needs fixing.”
    My father is handsome. I don’t say that just because I’m his daughter. He’s the kind of man who women stop and stare at when he walks into a room. He’s got thick, curly black hair and dark brown eyes. He’s usually cast as the rake or the hero in a play.
    “I miss working with my assistant.” He winks at me. “I brought your hammer.”
    To pay the bills when I was little, my dad did carpentry work and odd jobs, hauling me around inmy baby carrier. When I started teething, I chewed the wooden handle of one of his hammers. It still has bite marks on it.
    “Where’s your mother?” he asks.
    “At the high school. They’re having trouble with the light board,” I tell him. “She said you’re cooking dinner.”
    He looks around. “You’re here by yourself?”
    “No. Melvin’s in the den.”
    “Ah, right,” he says. “She mentioned something about some long-lost cousin crashing here. Well, let’s get that toilet out of the way.”
    We settle down in the bathroom, and my father snakes the toilet and then takes the lid off and tinkers around with the insides.
    “That should do it,” he says. “You want to do the honors?”
    I flush and the water goes down.
    “You should’ve been a plumber,” I say.
    He gives a wry smile. “I would’ve made a whole lot more money, that’s for sure.”
    My grandfather walks into the bathroom holding
The Catcher in the Rye
. He freezes when he sees my father.
    “You must be Melvin,” my father says. “I’m Ellie’s dad, Jeremy.” He holds out his hand.
    My grandfather doesn’t reciprocate. “Did you wash that hand?” he asks.
    “Toilet water is clean,” my father says.
    “Then drink it,” my grandfather replies.
    We stand there for a minute.