The Year My Sister Got Lucky by Aimee Friedman

The Year My Sister Got Lucky by Aimee Friedman

Author:Aimee Friedman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2008-03-03T16:00:00+00:00


“Welcome to Casa Hawthorne,” Autumn says when I arrive on her doorstep Saturday afternoon. She gestures with a flourish as I step inside the warm entrance hall. “I know it’s not a penthouse on Park Avenue, but …”

“Eeeek!” is my response. A large, furry creature is panting in my face, its jagged nails digging into my chest, and its enormous tongue attempting to slobber —

“Ralph Waldo, Ralph Waldo, down boy!” Autumn yells, pointing to the floor as if this might help. Magically, it does, because the creature — a gargantuan St. Bernard — gets down on all fours and stares up at me, his tail wagging so hard it bangs into Autumn’s legs.

“He likes you!” Autumn exclaims as I struggle for air.

The only one of my friends who’s ever had a dog was Sofia Pappas, and hers was a nervous, yappy little dachshund who zipped from one end of her apartment to the other (her parents eventually took the dog to a pet therapist, which is actually quite common in the city). Trini has a fat cat that naps all the time, and a few goldfish have floated in and out of my childhood. But an in-your-face, wild-and-free mountain dog like Ralph Waldo seems specific to Fir Lake.

“Go on, Ralph Waldo, go play out back,” Autumn says, patting Ralph Waldo on his rump, and the dog obeys, galloping through the house and presumably out the backdoor to the yard, where I pray he’ll stay. Forever.

“You’re not a dog person, huh?” Autumn asks me with a grin as I unbutton my peacoat with stiff fingers. My cheeks are frozen from the short walk, and I can barely feel my feet in my cute gold-buckled flats.

“Let’s just say I haven’t spent a lot of time around animals,” I respond, hoping to sound diplomatic even though I’m considering calling a doctor to make sure I didn’t catch rabies.

“Ralph Waldo means no harm, I promise,” Autumn assures me as she takes my coat.

“Uh-huh,” I say, studying the framed portrait of the dog that hangs in the entrance hall, alongside an embroidered square with the words Nature always wears the colors of the spirit — Ralph Waldo Emerson stitched into it. At least now I know where the dog got his weird name.

“So describe your old apartment for me,” Autumn instructs as she hangs up my coat in the hall closet. “You know, I’ve never been to New York City….”

“Really? I’m shocked,” I tease. When Autumn doesn’t answer right away, I worry that my comment offended her. But then she whirls around, laughing appreciatively.

“I know, I’m such the wide-eyed ingenue,” Autumn says as we walk through her living room. I wonder what ingenue means, but I don’t want to seem stupid by asking. Autumn’s living room is decorated in shades of forest green and nut brown, so it still feels like you’re outdoors even when you’re inside. There are tons of science books bursting out of the plastic shelves, and paintings of woodland creatures on the walls.



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