Now she lines George and me up on the start line, which is a bad idea because George doesn’t like races, even one he’s sure to win because he can ride a bike and I can’t.
“On your marks!” Mom says, way too loud.
“Come on, Mom,” I say. “Can’t we just ride?”
“Get set!”
I watch George to see what he does to start off and get going in a straight line.
Typical George—he’s not even looking ahead or down at his bike. He’s staring straight up—to the sky—and doing the impossible: balancing on his pedals without touching the ground or pedaling. He looks like a circus act. If he was anyone else, I’d say he was showing off, but I don’t think George understands the idea of showing off.
“And go!”
George goes.
He’s off and pedaling so fast, I don’t even bother riding because it’s too much fun watching him. He doesn’t look where he’s going because it doesn’t matter, he can fly over the bumpy grass no problem. He even takes the corner of a long-jump pit, which is all sand and would have toppled most bike riders, but not George. He sends a spray of sand, keeps riding.
I don’t know how a kid who can’t tie his shoelaces or dribble a basketball can be so good at bike riding. It’s like he’s not even thinking about it. He’s staring up at the sky and letting his body do the work while his mind is somewhere else.
Maybe that’s the secret.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Martin hold up his new phone as a camera. He takes a picture first of George, and then of me. Don’t! I think. And then I can’t help it, I want him to get a picture of me looking like George—flying free around the track, my head thrown back.
So I do it exactly like George did. I scream a little as I take off. I roll over grass and back onto the track. I pump my legs and stand up. I open my mouth and stick my tongue out. I close my eyes and put my head back.
It feels great. Somewhere behind, I hear Dad whoop and laugh. Mom is clapping and screaming, “Go, Benny!”
George and I ride for a while, doing laps and hooting every time we pass Dad. George rides for a while with his feet off the pedals and his legs sticking out. Then, like he’s just thought of something, he stops his bike and stands for a second, looking up the street. I stop mine to see what he’s looking at.
I can’t believe it.
It’s Lisa Lowes walking her dog toward us.
If anyone has the power to ruin this moment, it’s Lisa. The last time she saw our whole family together, she burst into tears. It made us all feel terrible, like spending time with our family would always be hard for other people. Now I wonder if the same thing will happen. It makes me so nervous I want to run up the street and tell her to turn around before she gets here.
I also have to admit this. A little part of me is happy to see her, too.
I want her to see George and me riding bikes. I want her to see Mom and Dad sitting in the grass, smiling like (almost) normal people again. I want her to understand (somehow) that it was mean what she did—crying in front of our dad and then not caring at all about George going missing.
So I don’t say anything. She starts running on the track like she’s listening to her music and doesn’t even see us. But even though she doesn’t see us, we all see her. Martin shoots a look at Mom like he wants to say, See, I told you what a bad idea this was.
Even Dad looks nervous, maybe about Lisa or maybe just a woman running with a dog on a leash makes him finally remember what happened. He makes a sound that scares Mom enough to put her arm around him.
I do the only thing I can think of—I turn my bike around and walk it off the track. “Come on, George, let’s go. We’re done,” I say. We can’t leave before Lisa makes it around to us but maybe we can pretend we don’t see her.
Except George can’t pretend. He won’t move. He’s smiling and waiting for her to get closer. He wants her to see him and then he’ll ride away from her, too nervous to speak to her probably. “Let’s go, George,” I whisper. “Now.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Come on, George,” Martin says, coming up behind us. “We’re leaving now.”
I’m surprised at how scared Martin sounds. Even Mom, who usually wouldn’t put up with running away from an awkward situation, is standing up, holding her hand out to Dad to get him moving.
It’s strange to realize this: we’re all scared of Lisa. Of how we once liked her and how bad she made each of us feel. The problem is, we can’t move fast enough. Dad gets dizzy standing up and can’t walk, even with Mom holding his arm. And George won’t move, which means I’m stuck beside him as Lisa runs toward us.
Martin leans in. “Seriously, people. Let’s go.”
It’s too late.
George is holding up his hand. “What are you guys doing here?” he shouts. This is his new version of repeating: telling people what he wants them to say. He did it outside Mr. Norris’s apartment and now he’s doing it again.
Lisa looks up. She really didn’t see us earlier because she’s obviously surprised. “Hi, Martin,” she calls, like she doesn’t even see me or George. Like George wasn’t the one who said something first.
“Hi, Lisa,” he says nervously. “We were just leaving.”
She stops running and stares at him. “So go,” she finally says.
George is still smiling. He doesn’t understand how this is painful for everyone. He’s happy to see the pretty girl he remembers eating dinner with us a few times. At least that’s what I assume.
I assume George doesn’t understand what’s going on here.
And then he does something so surprising, it’s hard to be sure what he understands and what he doesn’t. He turns to Martin and takes the phone out of his hand. He drops his bike on the ground so he can walk over to Lisa, holding out the phone.
“George, what are you—” Martin’s obviously worried that George feels some need to give Lisa his phone.
“Take our picture?” George says.
Usually George doesn’t care about pictures unless it’s Halloween. But he must remember Martin taking pictures a few minutes ago. Maybe he’s just thought of this out of the blue.
But here’s the weird part. It works.
“All of you?” she says doubtfully.
“Yes,” Mom says loudly, walking over, holding Dad’s hand. “All of us. Thank you, Lisa. That would be very nice of you.” She puts a little emphasis on the word nice, like maybe Lisa needs help remembering what it means.
We group together, all of us around me and my bike.
“Smile!” Lisa says.
And we do.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to the administration and staff at Crocker Farm Elementary School in Amherst, Massachusetts, who started “Footprints” as part of a schoolwide positive behavioral support program. I so loved following that line of footprints up the hallway that by the time I got to the end, I wanted to write a story about it. (Thanks especially to Derek Shea, Mike Morris, and Susan McQuaid, who took time to talk to me a little bit about it.)
This book had a long journey to publication and a champion in my old friend Jeanne Birdsall, whose kindness and generosity are a gift to so many fellow writers and every child who has been lucky enough to see her on a school visit. In addition, I am endlessly grateful to Tara Weikum, Chris Hernandez, and the whole team at HarperCollins, especially Kate Jackson, Gina Rizzo, and Elizabeth Ward, and to Margaret Riley King, who have been such wonderful supporters of all my books.
Last but not least, this book is closer to my real family than any other I’ve written, and I’m so grateful to Mike, Ethan, Charlie, and Henry for not minding the way I’ve borrowed some of their games, talk, and Lego-movie ideas and pretended they were my own.
About the Author
Photo by Ellen Augarten
CAMMIE McGOVERN is the author of Say What You Will and A Step Toward Falling. This is her first novel for young readers. Cammie is also one of the fou
nders of Whole Children, a resource center that runs after-school classes and programs for children with special needs. She lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, with her husband and three children. You can visit Cammie online at www.cammiemcgovern.com.
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Books by Cammie McGovern
For Teens
Say What You Will
A Step Toward Falling
Credits
Cover art © 2016 by Matt Hunt
Cover design by Aurora Parlagreco
Copyright
Grateful acknowledgment is given to Naomi Shihab Nye for permission to use a selection from her poem “Kindness” from The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. Copyright © 1995 by Naomi Shihab Nye. Reprinted by permission of the author.
JUST MY LUCK. Copyright © 2016 by Cammie McGovern. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015938989
ISBN 978-0-06-233065-9 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © February 2016 ISBN 9780062330673
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FIRST EDITION
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