Cynthia Kadohata - The Thing About Luck

“Do you want me to show you something amazing at the barn?”

I glanced at Obaachan, the top of her head still resting on the floor. “Sure, yes.” I went rushing out the door before Obaachan had a chance to stop me. Thunder, as always, followed me.

Was this a date? That thought made me take off my apron and stuff as much of it as I could into my back pocket. We strolled toward the barn, which was made of some kind of reddish wood. The roof was painted brick red. When we went inside, we stopped in front of a blond bull in a standing stock in the middle of the barn. “They’re going to enter him in the state fair,” Robbie said. “He’s one of those bulls they wash and blow-dry and all that to get them ready. They put a little rose water on him too, but just a small bit. They want him to smell good, but not girly. They even trim some of his hairs.”

I wondered how Robbie knew so much about this bull. “My grandfather worked as a cattle fitter for a while. He’s a nice-looking bull,” I said. “But he’s not standing right.”

“They hired another fitter to help with that,” Robbie said. I nodded. “But that’s not what I wanted to show you,” he continued.

We passed a few stalls until he stopped at an especially big one. And there stood the tallest horse I’d ever seen. Maybe it was an illusion, but he looked like he could be twenty hands. I knew he couldn’t possibly be that tall, because the tallest horse in history was about twenty-one hands. I had read that in my brother’s list of the biggest animals in history. He’d made the list when he was eight years old.

“Cool, huh?” Robbie said. He rested his face on a metal bar. He seemed in awe.

“I saw a huge shire horse at a county fair once, but this one is definitely bigger,” I said. This horse was black with white feet and a skimpy black mane. He eyed us calmly.

“The height’s in his legs,” Robbie said. “They’re so long, he looks kind of gawky. Usually shires are stockier.”

We stood awhile. I felt like time had stopped in here, like we were kind of floating in time. Robbie stepped back from the stall and touched my upper arm, making it tingle. “I better get to studying,” he said. “I have a whole algebra workbook I have to finish over the summer. I love algebra. I think about it all the time.”

Ugh. Algebra. I mean, all I thought about was my family, Thunder, my friends, and mosquitoes that killed maybe a million people a year—a million people!—but struck about three hundred million. Did you ever wonder how many diseases are carried by mosquitoes? I never did, until I got sick, and now I sure as heck know. Besides malaria, dengue, and encephalitis, mosquitoes can spread a couple of disgusting worms: helminth parasitic worms and dog heartworm, like my previous dog, Shika, had had. But not every mosquito carries diseases. Many of them are kind of innocent, for mosquitoes.

Anyway. We stepped back out into the sunshine, a warm breeze blowing into my face. Robbie was closing the barn door when I realized that Thunder wasn’t with us. “Wait, where’s my dog? We must have left him inside.” Robbie pulled open the door. I didn’t see Thunder, and there was nowhere to hide, just the long row of stalls, with the standing stock in the center. Still, I called out, “Thunder! Thunder, come!” I went back outside. “Thunder! C’mere, boy!”

Robbie was scanning the yard. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Weird. He’s very good about coming when I call. I trained him really well.” But as I said that, a feeling of dread hit me out of the blue. It was immediately followed by a ruckus that sounded like a bunch of chickens going crazy. I ran like mad toward the sound, but I already knew what I’d find.

On the other side of the barn, chickens were squawking all over the place. And there was Thunder, holding a speckled hen in his mouth, shaking it wildly. He looked ecstatic.

“No!” I shouted. “Down!” He pranced away. “No. Bad boy! Stay!” I stomped toward him and grabbed both sides of the chicken hanging out of his mouth. “No!” I yanked the chicken out and threw it down. Then I turned to assess the damage. It looked like there were three dead birds. “Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!” Thunder cowered and whined.

“Let’s get out of here,” Robbie said urgently.

He ran off, and I followed, holding Thunder firmly by the collar. This wasn’t the first time that he’d killed chickens—it had happened once at a neighbor’s farm back home. The farmer had said that the best way to cure a dog of killing chickens was to tie a dead chicken around its neck for a week and let the chicken rot. My parents had refused to do that, and fortunately, Thunder had not ventured into the neighbor’s farm again.

But this was worse—much, much worse—because for a cook or a combine driver, the farmer was like the king. When we reached the campers, we came to a halt, looking around furtively.

Robbie laid a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” he said. “It was all my idea.”

“No, Thunder’s my responsibility. I should have kept my eye on him. I can’t believe I didn’t.” I thought of all the times my mother had said to me, “Summer, what were you thinking?” This time I knew exactly what I had been thinking—how cute Robbie was.

“Okay, listen,” Robbie said, dropping his voice. “I didn’t see anyone else around. Unless someone saw us, it should be okay. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“We have to tell someone! Someone has to pay for the dead chickens.”

“Don’t—tell—anyone,” he warned. “I don’t want my parents getting in trouble.” He glared at me, then turned and walked away.

“See ya,” I called out, but he didn’t answer.

I stepped inside our camper dragging Thunder with me while Robbie went wherever he went, probably to his camper to study and get ready for college. Obaachan was standing up, already boiling oxtails for stew. The remnants of breakfast were gone. She glanced at me and said, “You with Robbie. He no good for boyfriend. Anyone who think you can eat cooked sashimi have problem in head. He need psychiatrist.” She wanted to talk about sashimi now? Now when my entire life might have just been ruined? It was ruined because I knew I had to tell Obaachan or Jiichan about the chickens, and then Robbie would hate me. But I didn’t see why the Laskeys would be mad at Robbie’s parents. It wasn’t their fault at all.

I just stood there and stared at her. I knew I had to confess to what Thunder had done.

Jaz was working on his LEGO apartment building at the kitchen table, adding “Cooked sashimi?” He laughed lightheartedly. “Sometimes I’m glad you’re my sister. Your life is nutty.” He laughed more. Then he seemed to be thinking. “But why would anyone want to be your boyfriend?” he asked. He looked at me innocently. “Seriously.”

“Why is every day Pick on Summer Day?” I asked.

“No. No. I’m not trying to insult you,” Jaz said. “I was just curious.”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a single reason why a boy would want to be my boyfriend. Some girls in my class already had boyfriends. They wore makeup and had cell phones and polished their nails. I tried to polish my nails once, and it smelled so horrible, I knew I could never do that again. Then I thought of one reason I’d make a good girlfriend. “I’m a good cook,” I said triumphantly.

“Men don’t care about good cook until ready to get married,” Obaachan said. “You think fourteen-year-old boy want you to roast him chicken?”