Free I Kill the Mockingbird by Paul Acampora Page B

living room. My namesake is the patron saint of eye disorders, and her statue is supposed to remind us not to sit too close to the TV screen.
    “This is not the kind of help Michaelwas talking about,” I say to the saint.
    St. Lucy doesn’t look at me. She can’t because she gouged out her own eyes to avoid marrying a pagan. In fact, images of St. Lucy always show her with two eyeballs on a tray. Our own Lucy statue holds a simple, silver platter. I used to think she was carrying two eggs over easy. Now I know that the whole Catholic thing can be seriously weird sometimes.
    “Can you believe this?” shouts Elena. Her voice is loud and clear in the phone against my ear.
    “I cannot believe this,” I say.
    On television, a reporter with a microphone stands beside a small man in front of a long bookshelf.
    “It’s Mister Dobby!” Elena screams.
    “I know.”
    “MISTER DOBBY!” Elena yells again.
    “He can’t hear you,” I say, but Elena does not reply.
    On the screen, our old friendMr. Dobby looks a little stunned. “According to store manager, Algar Dobby…” says a reporter who looks like an aging supermodel.
    “Algar?” says Elena.
    “Shhh!”
    “… it’s not unusual to run low on a book like To Kill a Mockingbird .” The picture cuts to a close-up of Mr. Dobby who is nodding like a bobble head doll. The reporter continues talking. “ To Kill a Mockingbird is an American classic anda regular part of many schools’ summer reading lists.”
    The camera cuts to Mr. Dobby. “We always make sure we have enough copies of books like that,” he says. “But someone or some group has been working to sabotage that effort this summer.”
    “SABOTAGE?” yells Elena.
    “Sabotage?” asks the reporter.
    Mr. Dobby holds one of our flyers up to the camera. My mockingbird bull’s-eye fills the televisionscreen. “These ransom notes have been discovered throughout the store.”
    “Hold it so that we can see it!” Elena yells at the television.
    As if he can hear us, Mr. Dobby lifts the sign a tiny bit higher so that the camera gets a better angle. Now, the whole thing—including our web address—is as clear as day.
    “Thank you, Mr. Dobby!” shouts Elena.
    “I kill the mockingbird dot com,” says the reporter.

    “Thank you, pretty reporter lady!” Elena adds.
    The camera pulls away to show the reporter giving Mr. Dobby a serious look. “Do you think this is some kind of a threat?”
    “I don’t know what it is.” The top of Mr. Dobby’s head barely reaches the woman’s chest. Beside her, he looks like a small, balding sixth grader. “But whoever is behind this should know that we have contacted all the proper authorities.”He turns toward the camera. “Stealing books is against the law, and censorship is just plain un-American.”
    “You tell ’em, Mr. Dobby!” shouts Elena.
    “Also,” Mr. Dobby adds, “people should know that we will have every copy of To Kill a Mockingbird on sale for half off the regular price.”
    “Are copies of the book available now?” the reporter asks.
    “No,” says Mr. Dobby, “but they should be arrivingsoon.”
    “Not if we can help it!” says Elena.
    The reporter stares straight into the camera. “If you have information in regards to who might be killing the mockingbirds, please call the Action News Hotline today. This is Dontine Flora reporting.”
    “Dontine?” says Elena.
    “Lucy,” Dad calls from the kitchen, “I could use some help in here.”
    “I’ve got to go,” I whisper into the phone.
    “This isawesome!” says Elena.
    “It’s something,” I admit before I hang up.
    In the kitchen, Dad fills a bowl with fresh greens and sliced tomatoes. Before Mom got sick, we were a mostly fast-food family. Now I can’t remember the last time that Dad and I pulled supper out of a paper bag.
    “How are your friends?” Dad asks while he places dishes on the table.
    “Elena’s fine,” I tell him. “Michael had a baseballgame