"Channel eight, right?" Breezy beamed. "Hey, a celebrity!"
Bobby drummed his fingers on the table. Exactly how long, he wondered, was this little interview going to last?
"Do you mind if I ask about your name?" Mom asked. "How is it people call you Lucky?"
"My real name is Amber," she replied. "But I've always hated that name. It seems so common."
Bobby finished the brownie. He had several nice chunks of amber in his rock collection. The stone weighed practically nothing. Amber was made from fossilized tree sap. In a piece of amber you could find tiny preserved insects from millions of years ago—flies, even small spiders.
"Lucky's a nickname. See, I was born on Friday the thirteenth, August thirteenth, at twelve thirteen in the morning. When I was born I weighed seven pounds, thirteen ounces. All those thirteens, and somehow everybody started calling me Lucky. And the name just stuck."
"Perfect!" Breezy exclaimed.
"It fits me," Lucky said. "Because I really am lucky. All the time I'm lucky. Today I found two quarters while I was running."
She opened her hand to show the coins.
"You mind holding them for me?" she asked Bobby. "My sweatpants don't have pockets."
Bobby took the two quarters and tucked them in the front pocket of his jeans.
"Hey, Bobby," Breezy said, "you going to introduce her to the family's fierce and diabolical killer?"
Lucky looked at him.
"Follow me," he said. They went up the stairs and into his room.
"Nice," Lucky said. "You could do a lot with this room. Lots of closet space, looks like. You plan on moving in?"
"Someday," Bobby said. Beyond the four quarter-circle windows there were two closets with built-in shelves. Right now they were full of old paint cans. He bent down and lifted the screen top off the terrarium. Thelma was in her usual position, lying behind a rock, scrunched up in the corner. Very gently he lifted her out. The spider nearly filled the space made by his cupped hands.
"Easy, girl," Bobby said. "This is Thelma. She's a tarantula."
"Man, man, man," Lucky whispered. She sat next to him on the bed and lowered her head to take a good look at Thelma. "Is that ... safe?"
"Yeah," he said, softly touching the hair on Thelma's body. "The most she can do is give you a little nip. Doesn't even break the skin. Last summer when I first got her, I used to let her walk on my chest, but I got a little rash. From her hairs, I guess. So I don't do that anymore."
"Do tarantulas live around here?" Lucky asked.
"Tarantulas in New York?" Bobby laughed. "No! You won't find any tarantulas living in this part of the country. Thelma's from Chile, South America. A Chilean rose tarantula."
Lucky looked relieved. "Can I, ah, touch her?"
"Sure, go ahead."
Carefully she put the tip of her forefinger against one of Thelma's legs.
"She's real gentle," Bobby said.
"Where'd you get her?"
"My friends in Illinois gave her to me. She was sort of a goodbye present."
"So what does she eat?"
"She likes crickets," Bobby said. "But you can feed tarantulas other stuff, too."
"Like what?" she asked in a low voice.
"You really want to know?"
She nodded.
"Small mice."
She made a face at that.
"I don't feed her mice, but some people do," Bobby said. "Anyway, it doesn't seem to matter what I feed her these days. She hasn't been eating since we moved here."
"Maybe she's homesick. I've felt that way myself, off and on, since we drove up from Georgia. Thank God for my running. When I don't run, I get awful glum." She reached over and touched Thelma again. "Maybe she just needs a friend."
"Maybe," he said. He put Thelma back in the terrarium.
"Are you any good?" Bobby asked. "At running, I mean."
"Not bad. I bet I'm the fastest kid in the school."
"How do you know?"
She shrugged.
"Don't know, really. It's just that I've always been the fastest kid in school. My last school went up to sixth grade, and by the time I was in third grade nobody could beat me." She rubbed her belly. "I really shouldn't have eaten that brownie. I'm in training almost all the time. There's going to be another Olympics in six years, and I plan to be there."
That I'm-so-sure-of-myself tone irked him. It reminded him of Chick Hall. Maybe being a jock made you feel and act cocky like that. Or having a father on TV.
"So what about this project we're supposed to do?" she asked.
"C'mon outside," he said, getting up. "I want to show you something."
They went out back. The one thing he liked about the new house was how much room they had. There was a big lawn, a field of tall grass and wildflowers, and woods beyond that. Fifty feet into the field they came upon a little vegetable garden with rows of squash, pumpkins, and tomatoes.
"Here," Bobby said, motioning for her to stop at the edge of the garden. That's when Lucky saw them—spiders. Not as giant as Thelma, but big, plenty big. In the sunlight they were a brilliant yellow and black color, sitting at the hub of circular webs. In the breeze the webs billowed like little sails.
"Hey, wow, are they poisonous?" Lucky stammered.
"Nope, they're garden spiders. Totally harmless." To show her, he carefully lifted one of the spiders off its web. The spider didn't like this and tried to squirm away.
"Boy, you are an expert, aren't you?"
He shrugged and put the garden spider back in its web.
"Last summer I read this book about the Aborigines, in Australia," Lucky said. "It said sometimes the Aborigines do this thing where they take a big leaf and swipe at a spider web so they can collect the whole thing. It's funny. The Aborigines think of a spider's web as a piece of art. They decorate their houses with them."
Bobby nodded and made a mental note to check that fact. Exactly the sort of thing he might put in his spider journal.
They both sat down and started talking about the science project for Mr. Niezgocki's class. They decided to concentrate on poisonous spiders around the world. Lucky would make some illustrated diagrams. He would get a piece of poster board and make a list of unusual spider facts. He could do that in his sleep.
"I was thinking maybe I could bring in Thelma as part of our report," Bobby said as they walked back toward thè house. "Mr. Niezgocki said it would be all right."
"Okay," Lucky said. When they reached the driveway she leaned forward and began to stretch. She leaned forward, knees locked, and put her whole hands on the ground. She stood up with her eyes closed and stretched her arms skyward. Deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked at him. And then without warning she was off, long legs moving sure and smooth and fluid as she ran up the driveway and onto the road.
"See ya!" she called. He stood watching as she rounded the bend. When he turned to walk into the house something jingled in his pocket.
"Hey!" he yelled. "You forgot your quarters!"
But he knew his words could never catch her.
Seven
October 4
I keep thinking about Lucky's fathers friend who got bit by a brown recluse spider and nearly died. Twice a priest gave him the last rites. Extreme unction, they call it. When a brown recluse bites you, the skin dies around the wound. This guy's face got messed up so bad the doctors had to do plastic surgery to make it look semi-normal.
All spiders have some poison but in most spiders the poison is too weak to be a threat to humans. Still, you have to be careful. More people die every year from spider bites than from shark attacks.
One of the most dreaded and dangerous spiders in South Africa is the button spider. Its poison is supposed to be four times as strong as a cobra's. When you get bit you feel burning at the bite. Then your chest and stomach muscles get paralyzed. You feel sharp pain and numbness in your left arm. Your pulse rate becomes quick. Pretty soon you're a goner.
The
funnel spider (Australia) is also deadly. Last year a two year old boy died within an hour and a half of being bitten.
There is a spider in South Africa, the spitting spider (scientific name is Scydotes), that creeps up to its prey. When it gets close enough, it spits. The spit is sticky and has lots of poison in it. The gummy mass covers the spider's victim and pins it to the ground. The spitting spider moves forward slowly and gives the final bite. Then he drags the victim from the sticky mass and eats it. I guess if your poison is strong enough, it doesn't matter how fast or slow you are.
Bobby walked down the crowded halls at school and heard a strange sound: somebody whistling. With a start he realized it was his own whistling—a sound he hadn't heard once since he'd moved to New Paltz.
He was in a good mood. The oral presentation he and Lucky did in Mr. Niezgocki's class went great, especially when he brought Thelma out for everyone in class to see. After one giant gasp—one girl actually had to leave the room—the whole class gathered around to meet Thelma up close. The kids really liked her.
He whistled his way into the lunchroom and found Lucky sitting at the table where he usually sat.
"Hi," she said. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"
"Nope." He opened his lunch bag—a meatloaf sandwich along with all the other things Dad had packed.
"Hey, I stopped by Mr. N's class and he gave me our grade," Lucky said. "A for content and A for presentation."
"Yesss!" Bobby said, making a fist.
"He said we had the whole class hooked."
"Not the whole class," Bobby said. "Chick Hall was absent."
"True. He's been hassling you, huh? Spider Boy and all that?"
"Every day I come into homeroom and find all these notes and signs on my desk. 'Dear Spider Boy.' 'Let's hear it for the world famous Spider Boy.' It's so stupid."
"Yeah, he's a little annoying," Lucky admitted. "But all in all, the guy is pretty harmless."
"Chick Hall?" He stopped chewing.
"He's not evil or anything." Lucky smiled at him. "I mean I know he's obnoxious sometimes, but who isn't? I sort of like him."
"You sort of like him?" He couldn't believe his ears.
"Yeah, well, at least he keeps things lively around here. Some days I feel like I'm going to die of boredom."
He glared at her. Lucky Prescott liked Chick Hall. This made no sense.
"Chick saved someone's life last summer," Lucky said.
"So big deal," he said. "I saved a kid's life myself, back in Illinois."
"Really?" She leaned forward and a story sprang to his lips. He was playing hockey, a sudden jagged crack in the ice, two little boys plunging into black water.... She would never doubt it. But it didn't feel right, not with Lucky. Besides, he'd made that resolution. No more lies.
"Nah," he said. "Just kidding."
"Bobby Ballenger!" She gave him a pouty look. "You had me going, you fiend! Hey, you know Thelma looked great today. You get her a perm for the occasion?"
"Very funny."
"Does she get an extra-juicy cricket for being good?"
"She gets all the crickets she wants, but she's not eating anything." He dropped the half-eaten meatloaf sandwich into his lunch bag. The talk about Chick had killed his appetite.
"She wont starve," Lucky said. "Least that's what my grandma used to say when my little brother didn't want supper. Where's Thelma now?"
"Mr. Niezgocki's letting me keep her in his lab."
"So you can stop in and see her whenever you want, huh? That's pretty cozy." She raised her eyebrows. "You know, that would make some girls jealous. See ya."
She picked up her lunch tray and walked away.
***
Back home, Bobby walked in and found his father sitting in the kitchen with a big smile on his face.
"Hi, Dad." Bobby stopped. "What're you doing home so early?"
"I've got a surprise for you."
"What?"
"Go up to your bedroom."
Bobby dropped his knapsack and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Everything looked normal in his room: the bed in the corner, the walls that needed painting, the stack of rolled-up posters, and boxes of unpacked books. Bobby glanced at the big terrarium where Thelma lived. Then he remembered that he had taken Thelma and her terrarium to school and left her there.
"Thelma?" he asked, peering inside.
"Observe carefully, Mr. Scientist," Dad said, coming into the room.
There was a tarantula inside the terrarium, but it wasn't Thelma. This one was bigger. Its legs and body were covered by short, fine hairs that were a dark reddish color.
"What is it?" Bobby sputtered.
"You are looking at a male king baboon spider." Dad spoke the words slowly. "An African baboon spider. Happy birthday!"
"What ... I mean how—?"
"I hadn't planned on getting you another spider, but a few days ago I started talking to a guy at work. His son had this tarantula for about a year. The kid went off to college and his father didn't want to take care of him. He was going to sell it back to the pet store but asked me if I was interested. These tarantulas can be pretty expensive, but the guy gave me a great price. Plus he threw in the tank and all this equipment for free. What do you think? Like him?"
"I love him!" Bobby said. "Can I hold him?"
"No!" Dad said, holding up both hands. "The guy at work said baboon spiders can deliver a serious bite. He gave me these gloves to wear if you have to reach into the tank."
Bobby put them on. They were made of rubber and reached all the way up to his elbows.
"Do you have anything to feed him?" Dad asked.
"I think so," Bobby said, looking into the cardboard box where he kept the crickets. He lifted the hood and carefully dropped in a live cricket. The insect had barely landed on the sand when the spider came racing over, pounced, and bit it savagely. Even at her hungriest, Thelma had never been so ferocious.
"I guess he's hungry!" Dad said. "You'd better make sure you've got enough!"
Bobby sat there, watching the tarantula feast. It had been such a long time since he'd seen Thelma eat anything at all.
"Are you going to name him?" Dad asked.
"Hmmm," Bobby said as his mind made a chain in rapid speed: baboon spider, baboon, monkey, monk.
Monk.
***
Dad made chicken paprikash for dinner. Mom switched on the TV so they could watch Roland Prescott do the news. He was a tall man with glasses and a short-cropped beard. Bobby thought the man looked like a professor.
"Hey, your girlfriend's father," Breezy said.
"Not a girlfriend," Bobby said. "Barely a friend."
"Don't be so testy," Breezy said, helping herself to the salad. "I liked her. She's nice—and real pretty. That girl's hot. A definite fox."
"Lucky is an attractive girl," Dad agreed.
"Attractive?" Breezy snorted. "I'd say beautiful is a lot closer to it. On a scale of one to ten, I'd give her at least an eight. Maybe a nine."
"Oh, and I suppose you're a ten," Bobby said.
"Don't I wish." Breezy sighed. "No, I figure on a real good day I might be a seven, possibly a seven and a half."
"In my book you're a ten all the way," Dad said, leaning toward Breezy so she could plant a kiss on his cheek.
"You sure she's not your girlfriend?" Breezy teased. "You're awful quiet over there."
"If I ever have a girlfriend I promise you'll be the first to know," Bobby told her.
"Well, I'm not shy about my boyfriend," Breezy said. "Luke has taken me on two dates now. He's really, really nice. And he's a phenomenal swimmer, one of the best in the state."
"Luke?" Bobby got a sudden fluttery sensation in the pit of his stomach. "What's his last name?"
"Hall. Can I have the dressing, please?"
Bobby let his head fall into his hands. Luke Hall! His sister was going out with Chick Hall's big brother! Mr. Webbed Feet. Mr. All-American-Full-Scholarship-t
o-Yale! He stared at the TV. Roland Prescott's face had turned serious, two people killed in a wreck on the interstate.
"What's wrong with you?" Breezy asked him.
"Luke Hall's brother, Chick, is in my class, and he's the biggest pain-in-the-you-know-what in the whole school." Bobby moaned. "Of all the kids in the high school, why'd you have to pick him to go out with?"
"Maybe he's different," Mom said.
"Yeah," Bobby replied. "And maybe well move back to Naperville tomorrow and forget New Paltz ever existed."
"Oh, I am so terribly sorry, dearest brother," Breezy said, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. "Next time I'll be sure to clear all my dates with you ahead of time, all right? Okay?"
"This is the one time we sit down together as a family," Dad said. He reached over and turned off the TV. "Lets try not to scratch each others eyes out."
"Mom, could Luke come over for dinner sometime? I'd like him to meet you guys."
Dad and Mom exchanged looks.
"I don't see why not," Mom said.
"Maybe tomorrow?" Breezy asked. "I wanted him to come over Saturday, but hes got a big swim meet that night. It doesn't have to be fancy or anything."
The phone rang.
"That might be him now," Breezy said, jumping up. But after saying hello, she covered the receiver and pointed at Bobby.
"Does your girlfriend have a deep voice?"
Bobby grabbed the phone and walked around to the other side of the breakfast bar.
"Hi," the voice said. "Its Lucky."
"Oh, hi." Bobby ignored Breezy, who was making eyes at him.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Sure. We're watching your dad on TV."
"You sure don't seem too happy about it."
"It's not him," Bobby said in a quiet voice. "It's, you know, family stuff."
"Oh." For almost ten seconds, neither of them said anything. She cleared her throat.
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come over this Saturday night," Lucky said. "My dad just got a new telescope. He's a real astronomy nut. Saturdays supposed to be clear. We should be able to get a good view of Saturn."
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