The Higher Power of Lucky

“No! Get me the plastic bottle of oil, quick!” Lucky kept her head to the side in case the bug might fall out because of gravity, but instead it dug around deeper inside. Lucky never knew you could feel that much pain.

She had an urgent, tremendous bad scary feeling and a crazed panic, with that bug moving around and biting tender, sensitive places that should never be touched ever by anything. Its scrabbling and scritching noises filled up her entire head, and those noises drummed out other, regular noises. She grabbed the bottle from Miles, got down on the towel on her side, and aimed for her ear. A large glop spilled onto her hair and neck and Lucky started crying because she thought she’d used it all up and wasted it. But there was still a little oil left that she carefully poured, knowing more by feel, now, where the opening to her ear was.

Lucky tried to soothe herself out of the panicky feeling by remembering that the bug would drown sooner or later without danger of the mineral oil seeping into her brain. You have to be patient. The main thing is if the bug is injured instead of being killed, it will never come out and you will have to go to the hospital where the doctor will use a special, horrible tool to reach in—and Lucky did not want to think about that special tool and what it would feel like.

Miles made some machine-gun noises and limped off down the hill, kicking sand with his one shoe. Lucky did not move. It’s important to wait until the bug fully dies in the oil. She didn’t know if it was working, because the bug still fluttered and crashed around.

“I’m going back now, Lucky,” Miles called from the foot of the little hill. “I’ll bring help so you don’t die from the bug in your brain.”

Lucky fought to keep from crying. “Miles, no! I’m okay! I won’t die! Don’t you want to see the bug come out?”

“No!”

“Don’t you want a Fig Newton?”

A pause. Miles was probably thinking this over. “I better get help first,” he said.

“But I need you, Miles! I need you to help me!”

“Help you do what?”

There were many more seconds now between bug movements. “Help me wait. I can’t move, but I’m very bored. I brought a good book. Could you please read it to me?”

“I don’t know how to read enough words yet.”

“Miles, I know you can read this one. Come on, get it out of that plastic sack.”

Lucky knew Miles thought she was trying to trick him. Slowly he limped back up to the camp. She heard him rummaging in the sack. The bug moved, but only a little.

“‘A mother bird sat on her egg,’” Miles read, and sighed deeply, his voice full of wonder.

By the time Miles finished reading Are You My Mother? Lucky decided she could safely turn onto her other side and drain her ear.

“Will blood come out?” Miles asked.

“I doubt it,” said Lucky, but she wondered too.

The storm seemed to have blown itself out, and the sun was moving toward the rim of the far-off mountains. Lucky closed her eyes.

“Why is my mother in jail?” Miles asked suddenly.

“She made a mistake, Miles.”

“So she’s really not taking care of her friend in Florida?”

“No.” Lucky felt a whoosh as a glug of oil spilled out. She shook her head in case there was more.

“It’s better that she’s in jail,” said Miles, “because that means she’s not staying away from me on purpose.”

Lucky did not know what to say.

“She’ll come back when she’s finished being in jail,” Miles continued, “but if I tell her about running away, will she be mad?”

“I’ll tell her how brave you were about the cholla burr and how you read to me and everything,” said Lucky.

She lifted her head and examined the towel. A tiny white moth, smaller than a housefly, lay there. Lucky had expected a gigantic beetle. She smiled, the pain completely gone, and sat up. “She’ll be proud of you,” she said.

“Guess what, Lucky! Here comes Chesterfield!”

They both heard steps approaching in the calm silence. But it wasn’t a burro who came around the side of the hill. It was Lincoln.

21. Amazing Grace

The sky was smeared with red as the sun dipped down behind the Coso Mountains.

“Hey,” said Lincoln, “what’s up?”

“Nothing much,” said Lucky, arranging the skirt of Brigitte’s dress attractively, as if this were a usual, boring day. She felt her hair. It was full of sand, mineral oil, and twigs.

Lincoln got out a string and began tying it into a knot.

“We are living like the old miners! We ran away!” yelled Miles.

“I know,” said Lincoln. “So does everyone else. They searched everywhere in town and figured out you must be here. I’m sure they’ll be here sooner or later.”

“Are they very mad?”

“Pretty worried, I guess. Short Sammy kept telling Brigitte about all the times he ran away and how he turned out okay anyway. He was trying to calm her down, but I think he made it worse.”

Miles asked, “How do they know we’re out here?”

Lincoln shrugged. “Mrs. Prender said you were always talking about some burro named Chesterfield that lived in the dugouts,” he said.

Lucky sighed. “Want an egg?” she said.

“Only if it’s hard-boiled.”