Free Lucky Breaks by Susan Patron

stand at the kitchen door.
    “You stay here, Beag,” Lucky said in a strict voice, and gave her dog the carrot. “That burro might think you’re a coyote.” To Brigitte she said, “Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing. Please keep HMS Beagle inside.”
    Lucky had often allowed Brigitte to think that her adopted daughter had more experience than was actually the case. This came in very handy, time after time. Brigitte said, “His teeth will bite off your fingers!”
    But Lucky, barefoot and wearing her warm-weather nightie, slipped out quickly, closing the door behind her.
    Brigitte wrenched it open immediately, but stayed in the doorway.
    Instead of looking straight at the animal, Lucky turned her face to the side because she knew that non-meat-eaters, like the burro, do not like it when meat-eaters, like Lucky, look at them directly. His own eyes, outlined in white, were slanted up in a way that made him look sleepy and sweet. Lucky scratched the skin of the apple with her fingernail, releasing its apple smell.
    She walked, slowly, to the closest Café table and put the apple on it.
    “Here you go, Chesterfield,” she said in a soft voice. “You can have the apple but not Brigitte’s parsley or vegetables.” She could hear Brigitte’s breathy pfft of disbelief behind her.
    The burro twitched its scraggly tail. Dust floated off its thick, patchy-looking coat in the moonlight. Up this close, evenviewed from the corners of Lucky’s eyes, he was a really dilapidated burro, probably old enough to be a great-grandfather. Everything about him was tough and worn and dried out except his gentle, long-eyelashed eyes and his white velvety muzzle.
    Lucky glanced back at the kitchen trailer doorway. Brigitte, wearing the oversize T-shirt she slept in, clutching the flyswatter, did not take her eyes off the burro.
    Lucky sighed. It was good that, like Lincoln, Brigitte and the Beag watched out for her, but at the same time too bad none of them realized how strong and swift and smart she was in dangerous situations. They didn’t know how much like Charles Darwin she was. Just like him, she would have tons of adventures, make important discoveries, and live to be very, very old. She could take care of herself.
    Chesterfield put his great head to the ground for a moment, then slowly turned and wandered off toward the open desert on neat tiny hooves. Lucky watched him awhile, then came inside, feeling disappointed.
    HMS Beagle sniffed her thoroughly, sneezed, and went to curl up on the little rug by Lucky’s bed. Brigitte drank a tall glass of water, still watching out the kitchen window.
    In the morning the apple was gone.

15. danger
    HMS Beagle and Lucky were examining the burro’s hoofprints in the early morning light when Brigitte called, “There is e-mail for you!” and Lucky ran into the kitchen where the Dell laptop was open. Brigitte gave Lucky her place at the little built-in table. “Please do not take too long—I have some reservations for the weekend to answer, and also orders to make.”
    The weekend meant customers, and Brigitte was ordering some meat and vegetable deliveries over the Internet. Lucky slid into the seat.
    “Dear Luck,” she read. “Mom said yes! C U Friday!!!!! P.S. Have you learned to swim yet? Xxx Pal.”
    Lucky yipped and raised her two fists. “Her mom said yes!” she told Brigitte.
    “Because I promise her on the telephone you two girls will be careful. She does not really know us, and she is very, very worried about Paloma’s safety.” Brigitte gestured toward the miles and miles of Mojave Desert outside. She put her handson each side of Lucky’s face and leaned over, zinging waves of seriousness straight out of her eyes and straight into Lucky’s. “Ma puce,” she said in her deep, quiet voice, “you must be thinking always about this and not get into even a little bit of trouble or she will never let Paloma come back.”
    “I know,” said Lucky, and made her own eyes