Free Finding Fortune by Delia Ray Page B

even taller and burlier than he had appeared from my perch in Room 26. He reminded me of a Viking, like he should have been wearing boots to his knees and one of those hats with horns, instead of flip-flops and his bushy gold hair slicked down with water. Mr. Baxter looked like a dwarf beside him as they stood exchanging stiff hellos.
    Hildy appeared from behind the curtains just as Mayor Joy walked in. He dashed over to escort her down the stairs of the stage. She had put on a fresh coat of lipstick in fire-engine red, but she seemed frazzled as she crossed the cafetorium leaning on the Mayor’s arm. Her eyebrows shot up when she spotted me coming out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of mashed potatoes.
    â€œRen!” she cried, letting go of the Mayor’s arm. “You’re still here! Wasn’t your mother supposed to pick you up this afternoon?”
    I cringed apologetically. “I’m really sorry, Hildy. My mom’s never on time, and Mine said I could stay for dinner. Would that be okay?”
    â€œOh, I suppose so,” she said with a helpless shrug. “But we’ll have to be sure to listen for the buzzer.” I nodded and quickly delivered the potatoes to the table. Mr. Baxter and the others were starting to make their way over.
    â€œNow where’d Tucker get off to?” Hildy asked as she seated herself at the head.
    â€œHe’ll be along any minute, Mother,” Mr. Baxter told her. “He’s getting the rest of his things out of the car.” He hesitated next to the table, frowning down at the wooden picnic benches that were pulled up on either side. Then, with a sigh, he squeezed himself into a spot on the end next to his mother.
    When I slipped back into the kitchen, Mine was crouched over the roast with a fork and a carving knife. “This meat is as tough as shoe leather,” she moaned under her breath. “I can barely cut into it. I probably shouldn’t even serve it.” Hugh stood quietly patting his mother’s back as he peered down at the grayish-brown hunks on the platter.
    I ran over and opened the refrigerator. “Look!” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “You’ve got ketchup. And A.1. Sauce! My dad loves this stuff.” I grabbed the bottles from the door of the fridge. “No one will care if their meat’s a little dry.”
    â€œThank you, Ren,” she said as she set down the carving knife and wiped the back of her wrist across her shiny forehead. The diamond in her nose glinted. “What would we have done without you today?” I couldn’t help feeling pleased with myself, especially when Hugh flashed me his own thankful smile.
    â€œAll right.” Mine squared her shoulders and reached up to tighten her bandanna around her frizzy bundle of dreads. “Might as well get this over with.”

 
    TEN
    EVERYONE WAS SEATED and waiting when Mine and Hugh and I finally came out of the kitchen with the platter of meat and every bottle of sauce we could find in the refrigerator. I hung back for a second, trying to figure out where I should sit.
    â€œCome down here, honey,” Hildy called, pointing to the small space between her son and Sister Loud, straight across from Tucker. He must have arrived while we were finishing up in the kitchen. I could feel him staring as I threaded myself into the open spot on the picnic bench, trying not to knock up against anyone with my knees or the bottles of ketchup and A.1. “Everybody, this is Ren Winningham,” Hildy announced. “Ren is”—there was an awkward pause—“visiting us from Bellefield.”
    Thank goodness Mine jumped in with her own introductions. She welcomed Mr. Baxter and Tucker, then quickly started babbling out apologies for the plain salad and the tough roast.
    Carefully, I lifted my gaze. Tucker had a swoop of long black bangs and blue eyes—or at least one of his eyes was blue. I couldn’t see