The Thing About Luck

by Cynthia Kadohata

  Jaz took down his math workbook and was immediately so engrossed, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed if there was a tornado—he’d just keep working while he was swirling around in the air.

  I decided not to read my history book, so I took down my journal. I was supposed to write about my experiences on harvest for my new teacher, and I would read some of them to the class so they could learn about this lifestyle. But they all knew about it already. We lived in farm country. So what could I say? I had a crush on a boy and Thunder killed some chickens? I cooked sausages? I sat down and tapped my pen on the journal. Then I wrote.

  When you are on harvest, you don’t care much about what is going on in the world. What is Congress doing? What is the president doing? I have no idea. All you care about is cutting that wheat as quickly and effish efficiently as you can. You are in another world. I like being in this world because the motto of U.S. Custom Harvesters, Inc., is “We harvest the crops that feed the world.” If not for us, many people wouldn’t have bread.

  That was lame. I drew a line through it and turned the page to start again.

  The thing about being a kid is that you don’t get to make any decisions on harvest. You just work all the time. I help cook for the crew because my grandmother, who is supposed to be cooking, isn’t well.

  I drew a line through that too. Then I closed my journal and put it back on the shelf.

  I took down paper and A Separate Peace to write my book report. The teacher said to sum up your feelings about the book in the first paragraph. Then tell what happened and also mention what you do or don’t have in common with the main character. Also, somewhere in there you’re supposed to state how the main character changes in the story.

  My sixth-grade teacher hated contractions. We were supposed to write, for instance, “do not” rather than “don’t.” One thing I didn’t understand was punctuation. My teacher always said to put your punctuation where it “feels” right. But then when I did that, she always marked up my paper because she said the punctuation was all wrong. Fortunately, the main thing was to mix up descriptions of the book with your own feelings, not to have perfect punctuation. You had to write at least three drafts and hand in all three.

  For draft number one, here’s what I wrote:

  I thought A Separate Peace was a strange and kind of amazing book. It was very quite quiet, and then suddenly, it was not quiet at all. So then the parts that are not quiet make all the quiet parts seem like they are not quiet after all. Once I read the whole book, my mind flashed back through the whole book again. It is a book about two boys, Finny and Gene, and they are best friends. They are in high school. They go to a boarding school. It is during World War II. I am only twelve years old, so I don’t do not know much about World War II.

  This book starts at the end not the beginning. Most of the book takes place fifteen years earlier than it is in the first and last chapters. The main character, is Gene. Gene used to have fear when he went to school, but, he then gets rid of his fear. This was very interesting to me, because I am scared of a lot of things. Sometimes, I just want to stay locked up in my room at night, because I think a mosquito might bite me. And, I am afraid, to ride my bicycle in the night, even though I have my dog, Thunder, with me and even if I am covered in DEET. Even if a mosquito does not bite me, who knows a car might hit me.

  For Gene, there was a very important insident that happened fifteen years earlier. If anyone reads this report and has not read the book yet, consider this, a *spoiler alert*. Finny climbs up a tree and when he is on a branch, Gene shakes the branch and Finny falls.

  Finny used to be, a great athelete, but now his leg is broken so bad from the fall that he cannot be an athelete anymore. Later in the book Finny falls down a set of stairs. Then, he dies during sugary surgery on his leg. The problem is, I do not really understand if Gene could have possibly shook the branch on purpose. I mean, who would do that to their best friend? Gene was jealous of how good an athelete Finny is, so I guess Gene, shakes the branch on purpose to hurt Finny??

  Before Finny dies, then Gene starts to dress like Finny. Finny trains Gene to be an athelete like Finny used to be. Gene becomes like Finny because Finny cannot be himself anymore. This is insane behavior in my opinion. Their relationship is so intense that it is insane.

  Finny dies. Then Gene can start to act like himself again.

  I stopped writing. We were supposed to write the theme or the lesson of the book at the end of the report. I didn’t understand what the theme or lesson of this book could be. I thought about it, and then I started writing again.

  People are very complicated, and I do not think even a really smart psichyatrist psyciatrist psychiatrist can truly figure out what is in your brain and what is in your heart or stomach. You might not even realize it, but maybe you would shake a branch your best friend is on, although I personally do not think I would ever do that. Your My brain and heart might be mixed up and tangled, and inside of you me there are both good and bad things. The lesson of A Separate Peace is that it takes might take fifteen years to untangle all those things inside of me.

  I must say I thought that was a pretty brilliant book report. Plus, the book really gave me insight into life. It made me realize that since I was twelve, I could be almost twenty-seven by the time I was untangled. That seemed like an awfully long time in the future, but maybe there was a way to shorten the time. I knew you would have to work hard at it, because if it was easy to untangle yourself, everybody would be untangled, which simply isn’t true.

  Anyway, it was time to start adding carrots and potatoes to the stew. Jiichan had told me that while I was cooking, I should put love into what I was doing, and then the food would be healthier. I couldn’t find my apron, so I put on Obaachan’s. I picked up a knife to slice the potatoes. How did I put love into that? I thought, I love everyone, I love everyone, I love everyone. I kept thinking that while I sliced. I held my open palms over the potatoes and thought, Love, love, love. I really concentrated. But as hard as I concentrated, I just couldn’t feel love for these potatoes.

  “What are you doing?” Jaz asked.

  “Putting love into the potatoes,” I answered.

  “Putting love into the potatoes,” he repeated.

  “Jiichan said to put love into the food as I cook.”

  Jaz laughed a delighted laugh. I don’t know why, but I laughed too.

  CHAPTER TEN

  For dinner we drove out to the combines and ate on the canvas chairs, the stew in a big pot on the pickup’s lowered gate. I decided to wait until the last minute to tell the Parkers about the dead chickens. If I told them sooner, it might ruin their digestion. On the other hand, I thought about how my grandfather had once told me that when I did something bad, I should try to hurry through it. Like, instead of sitting around worrying about it, just get the confession and punishment over with as quickly as I could. “Make time go faster,” he had said.

  I kept my eyes on Mrs. Parker as she took her first sip. She didn’t change expressions. She took another sip and said, “Not bad,” and my heart leapt. I wondered if she could feel any love in the potatoes. Since the stew had turned out okay, maybe she wouldn’t be so upset when I told her about the chickens.

  I swear I was just about to confess, but then right toward the end of dinner, Mr. Laskey came by with a pretty girl about my age and said, “Keep your eyes open for coyotes. One of them killed three of my prize chickens in broad daylight. Never saw that before.” He shook his head angrily. “And I’ve got the best free-range chickens in the county. People have paid a hundred dollars for one of my chickens.”

  Holy moly. Since I had saved $461 in my whole life, that meant my money was only worth four and a half of his chickens.

  “Dad,” the pretty girl said, “can I have some of their pie?”

  But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me. Mr. Laskey’s eyes had fallen on mine while he said “never saw that before,” and I could hardly breathe.
It was as if he were talking directly to me, like somehow he knew who was responsible. It was time to confess. But I couldn’t get my mouth open. I shot a look at Obaachan to confess for me, but she just sat spooning her stew as if none of this had anything to do with her. Robbie and I met eyes.

  Mr. Laskey’s daughter, who was standing right next to where I was sitting, was wearing her hair in two braids, just like mine. She had eyelashes so long, they seemed almost unreal. “Hi, I’m Summer,” I told her.

  “Hi,” she said coldly, and I knew right then she didn’t want to be friends. I had on an apron, which I guess told her everything she needed to know about me. A part of me wanted to be friends with her, and a part of me wanted to bop her on the head.

  “How many days do you think are left?” Mr. Laskey asked Mr. Parker.

  There was an awkward silence. Then Mr. Parker said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get all your wheat cut before the rain. But, uh, up in Oklahoma we have a customer who’s expecting rain soon. So we’re going to have to split up the team. We’ll keep two combines here and send two up to Oklahoma.”

  Mr. Laskey frowned. “I hired your whole team to cut this wheat, not half your team.”

  “We’ll get it done before it rains here. I guarantee you that,” Mr. Parker said. “I’ve crunched all the numbers. We’re working sixteen hours today, and the way it’s going, by the end of Tuesday we should have more than four thousand acres cut.”

  “But rain is expected here,” Mr. Laskey said.

  “Right, and we’ll have already finished your farm. If we don’t get your grain in on time, I will personally pay for any wheat that gets wasted,” Mr. Parker replied.

  Mr. Laskey didn’t answer, just drove off with his daughter.

  Mr. Parker said impatiently, “All right, we’ve had enough to eat. Back to work.” So even though everybody still had food in their bowls, they all got back into their various machines.

  We loaded up the bowls and canvas chairs. Obaachan didn’t say a word to me. But later when we had finished cleaning the dishes, and the bowls were stacked in the rack, she said, “I never been so ashamed of you.” Then she went to lie down facing south, while the rest of us would sleep north. Maybe I should have started sleeping south as well.

  Then I plopped down on the front steps of the camper with Thunder at my feet. I was filled with shame that I hadn’t confessed, but now it just seemed impossible that I could. I pushed my hands against my head, hard. It was the sort of thing Jaz might do. I felt like my whole world was filled with nothing but responsibilities and consequences. I didn’t even know if I wanted to grow up. I would have even more responsibilities then, even more consequences.

  I mean, I knew there were consequences, I knew I had to talk to the Parkers, but I just didn’t understand why my life was right here, in this particular place, and why I was the most unamazing person in the world. Why was I the girl wearing an apron?

  I thought about going to talk to Mr. Laskey, but it might be that the Parkers would want to explain it themselves. I also thought very seriously about doing nothing at all. Mr. Laskey already thought a coyote was to blame. The only people who knew otherwise were me, Robbie, and Obaachan. Why had I told her? I knocked my hand against my skull and said, “Eejit!”

  And what kind of crazy person pays a hundred dollars for a single chicken? I looked up at the stars. Jaz thought that out there in other galaxies, there were other inhabited planets, and that each inhabited planet had its own Bible, and that somewhere in some library in outer space there was something like a galactic Encyclopaedia Britannica. I looked back down. I thought of my savings—and of how, after I paid for the chickens, I would have only $161 to show for all the work I’d done in my whole life. A moth landed on me, and I smashed it hard on my arm.

  Instantly remorseful, I said, “Sorry, mothie.”

  I wiped the moth gunk off my arm. Mr. Laskey could afford to lose three hundred dollars more than we could afford it. Dang!

  “Come,” I said to Thunder, and he followed me into our camper, to our end of it.

  Obaachan, who was reading a Japanese magazine, said, “What you want?”

  “Obaachan, I can’t tell anyone now. Mr. Laskey’s already so upset.”

  “Sometime it very inconvenient to tell truth. But girl I be proud of tell the truth, anyway.”

  “You are the guilt trip queen!” I shouted at her.

  “Grounded for week for yelling at me.” She spoke without moving her eyes from the magazine. I made a mental note that I should start keeping track of how much she said she was grounding me. It was adding up.

  I pulled my purse from my luggage and took out three hundred dollars. It was a pretty, yellow straw purse with a wooden fish attached to the zipper. I had gotten it for Christmas. I had twenty-one one-dollar bills and the rest in twenties. “Stay,” I said to Thunder. “I’m about to do something that’s probably really stupid.”

  I strode across the field toward the farmhouse. It was just like a house I would love to live in one day—two stories, a big covered porch, and wicker chairs. They looked so pretty that I went to sit on one for a moment. It would be so nice to sit out here at night and look at the stars. I thought I heard a noise and jumped up and looked around guiltily. But I didn’t see anyone. I knocked on the door.

  Mrs. Laskey answered. “Yes?”

  I hesitated—Mrs. Laskey didn’t look like I would have imagined. Her hair was completely unstyled, not even combed. It was just kind of smooshed on top of her head. And she wore bright red lipstick. Who wore bright red lipstick on a farm? She was exactly my height, five foot one. She looked a little crazy, actually, but in kind of a cute way, like someday she might become Obaachan or Jiichan. That kind of cute . . . although I guess Obaachan wasn’t so cute.

  “May I speak to Mr. Laskey? I’m with the Parkers.”

  “Is it something I can help you with?” She gazed at me sincerely, like she really would like to help me.

  “It’s about the coyotes.”

  “Oh, all right, then. I’ll get him. He’s in a war with the coyotes.” She invited me inside, then she turned to pick up something from a small table in the foyer. “Would this be yours? It kind of looks like the one you’re wearing.” She held up a crumpled apron.

  I looked at the apron. “Yes, that would be mine.” My face burned. I hadn’t even realized I’d dropped it. She handed it to me, and I stuffed it into my back pocket.

  She studied me for a moment. Then she said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” and my heart went out to her.

  On the table in the foyer there was a lamp that was darkish silver glass interspersed with lighter silver glass in the shape of flowers. I had never seen such a beautiful lamp. I didn’t even know anyone made beautiful lamps. I thought lamps were just lamps. It took all my self-control not to lean over and touch it.

  Mr. Laskey walked into the foyer. “So you saw the coyotes?” He looked at me as if we were both involved in some kind of conspiracy against those evil coyotes.

  “No, sir.”

  He waited. I stared at him. I had the sudden thought that this was maybe the stupidest idea ever, like, in history. But it was too late now. He started to look puzzled as I just stood there.

  “Well, what is it, then, young lady?”

  “There are no coyotes,” I said sadly. “I mean, there are coyotes, but not here. I mean, not that I know of. My dog killed your chickens, sir.” I thrust a wad of bills out to him. “And here’s three hundred dollars to pay for them.” As I was handing him the money, my intuition told me that he had exaggerated how much his chickens were worth. Only a madman would pay one hundred dollars for a chicken.

  I was hoping he wouldn’t take the money, but he did. Close up, he seemed so normal, not like someone I should be scared of. His balding head looked soft, and his face looked kind of doughy. And maybe somewhere in that face I saw a hard life. He frowned and counted the money as if I might have cheated him. I waited for him to lecture me. I’d
heard many lectures in my life, so I was prepared. “You let your dog run wild in the vicinity of my house?” he asked.

  “No, he’s always with me. I went to see your giant horse, and I forgot about Thunder—that’s my dog—and he found the chickens.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In the camper. He’s confined.”

  “I want you to keep a good eye on him every second from now on. And I mean every second.”

  “I will.”

  “And your parents do what exactly?”

  That panicked me a bit—I didn’t want Obaachan and Jiichan getting fired. “My grandfather drives a combine and my grandmother is the cook for the crew.”

  He pulled at his upper lip with a thumb and forefinger. He was quite expert at it and pulled his lip out farther than I would have thought a lip could go. Then he said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a hundred and leave you the rest.” He counted out a hundred dollars and handed the rest to me. “If it happens again, I’ll have to ask the Parkers to get rid of the dog.”

  “Yes, sir. I swear it won’t happen again.”

  But his mind had already moved on. “We tried to get the horse into the record books, but he didn’t even make it into the top ten.” He flipped out his palms, like, What are you gonna do?

  “There must be some big horses out there. Anyway, thank you for, uh . . . ”

  “I appreciate your honesty. Now, run along, young lady.”

  He was already closing the door as I said, “Good night.”

  I ran all the way back to our camper. The combines were still churning away, the sound growing louder as they moved nearer, their lights shifting in tandem. I watched for a minute, just kind of smiling to myself. Then I burst into the camper and skipped to our end. Obaachan was lying on her mattress, but the light was on. She was admiring her hands again. I said, “I confessed to Mr. Laskey. I told him Thunder killed his chickens.”

  “What he say?” Obaachan asked. She lifted herself with a grunt. She looked worried.