The Birthday Party of No Return!

  “Not exactly,” I said.

  “Did you get his autograph?” Dad asked. He’s a big autograph collector. He has all the presidents going back to Carter. He frames them and hangs them on the den wall.

  I shook my head. “No. No autograph. But it was cool to see him.”

  I didn’t say that everyone else got an autograph. I didn’t want Dad to think I was a loser.

  After dinner I was up in my room, in front of my laptop. I was visiting the website for the Summer Sports Camp for the eleven-millionth time.

  The lake looked beautiful. They have an Olympic-sized pool, too. With a high-diving board. They have Olympic swimmers to give diving lessons.

  And major league baseball players to give batting and fielding lessons. And a Hall of Fame pitcher who will help you work on your fastball. Amazing, right?

  If you’re into basketball like me, they have that, too. They have experts to help you in every sport you might want to try. And you get to live in these awesome cabins with Wi-Fi and video games and big-screen TVs.

  Heaven.

  “I have to go there,” I muttered at the screen. I gazed at the photo of the sparkling swimming pool. The pool was heated. Everyone got a one-hour free swim every day.

  “I have to. Have to.”

  Sure, I had to worry about Laura winning the scholarship. She was a good athlete and captain of all the girls’ teams.

  But she wasn’t my main problem.

  My main problem, of course, was Lucky Duckworth.

  “Maybe I can get lucky, too,” I muttered. “Maybe…”

  I heard a sound. I spun around to the door.

  Only Arfy.

  The big dog stepped into my room. His head was down. He looked kind of droopy.

  “Arfy, what are you doing in here?” I asked.

  Arfy made a few loud coughing sounds. Like he was clearing his throat. He licked his snout furiously.

  Then his stomach heaved. He opened his mouth wide and threw up on my carpet.

  A big wave of lumpy yellow vomit poured out of his mouth. He made another groaning sound. And dropped another huge pile of vomit beside the first one.

  I let out a long sigh.

  Even my dog is bad luck!

  How can I change my luck? Am I just DOOMED?

  Mom came into my room while I was still cleaning up the vomit. She studied the carpet for a moment.

  “You missed a spot,” she said, pointing.

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”

  She was holding a square brown package. “I forgot,” she said. “This came in the mail for you.”

  I glanced up at it. “Who’s it from?”

  “Doesn’t say,” Mom said. The phone rang. She set the package down on my desk and hurried away to answer it.

  I finished the cleanup. I washed my hands, but I couldn’t get the smell off them.

  I picked up the package. It was addressed to me with no return address. What could it be? I didn’t remember sending for anything.

  The package was very light. I shook it. Nothing rattled inside.

  I tore off the brown paper and found a box underneath. In bright red letters, the top of the box read: INSTANT GOOD LUCK.

  Huh? Had someone read my mind?

  In smaller type, the box top said: This rare good-luck charm never fails.

  I lifted the box and let the brown wrapping fall to the floor. “This has to be some kind of stupid joke,” I muttered to Arfy.

  The dog was watching me closely. He was hoping there would be food in the box.

  Did Cory send this as a joke?

  I shoved the box into my bottom desk drawer. I didn’t even open it.

  “Cory must think I’m a total moron,” I said to Arfy. “Like I’m really going to believe in good-luck charms.”

  I slammed the desk drawer shut and forgot about it.

  A few days later, six or seven kids gathered at the tennis court behind the school. They came for the first event in the Sports Camp competition.

  A singles tennis match. Just one match against one opponent. The winners would score points for skill and style, awarded by Ms. Andersen, the school tennis coach.

  Ms. Andersen is young and very pretty, with long, wavy brown hair and brown eyes and a great smile.

  She doesn’t dress like a teacher. She always wears T-shirts and jeans.

  She matched up the players. Who did she match me up against? My pal Cory, of course.

  Kids took out their rackets and began to take practice swings. We hit balls against the back wall of the school.

  The court isn’t in great shape. The surface is a little lumpy. Sometimes the ball takes crazy bounces. And the net is a little loose.

  But it’s the only court we have.

  It was a sunny, warm day with a few low clouds drifting past. I did some warm-up exercises, swinging my arms from side to side. Loosening up.

  I felt pretty good. Sometimes Cory and I play tennis on weekends, and we are about even. And maybe I beat him a few more times than he beats me.

  Laura and a girl in our class named Shara Johnston were the first to play. We stopped our warm-ups to watch them.

  Cory stepped up to me with a grin on his face, his dimple flashing. “Check it out,” he said. He raised his racket in front of me.

  “Is that new?” I asked.

  He nodded. “My dad bought it for me. Look.” He ran his fingers over the strings. “See? It’s a new kind of racket. The string bed is suspended inside the frame.”

  I squinted at it. “What’s that supposed to do?” I asked.

  Cory’s blue eyes sparkled in the sun. “It increases the sweet spot by eighty percent.”

  “The sweet spot?”

  I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to psych me out. He was trying to show me what a loser I was — before we even started to play.

  “It cuts handle vibration by fifty percent,” he added.

  “Cool,” I said. “Good luck with it, dude. I can still beat you.” I twirled my racket in my hand.

  He laughed and walked away. It wasn’t a nice laugh.

  Shara Johnston isn’t a very good tennis player. She has no backhand at all. But Laura had a lot of trouble beating her.

  Laura slumped off the court, drenched in sweat. She shook her head. “That was close. What a struggle,” she said to me.

  Cory popped up next to us. “You played really well — for a girl,” he told Laura. He laughed.

  “Shut up!” she said. She gave him a playful shove in the chest.

  “Now watch Lee and me play,” Cory told her. “Maybe you’ll pick up some pointers.” He turned and jogged onto the court, waving his fancy new racket in front of him.

  “You mean like bad examples?” Laura called after him.

  “Lee, get moving!” Ms. Andersen shouted. “Get this match going. Good luck!”

  I’ll need it, I thought. If Cory has eighty percent more of a sweet spot, I’ll need good luck.

  And as soon as I stepped onto the court, I knew I was in trouble.

  My sore eye started to itch and throb. It still hadn’t recovered from the bug that had to be tweezed from it. Tears rolled down my cheek.

  It was hard to see clearly. Clouds floated over the sun. Long shadows spread over us.

  I squinted hard with my one good eye. Cory has an awesome serve. My legs suddenly felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each.

  But I gritted my teeth and forced myself to move.

  We play four-game sets. Two out of three sets wins the match.

  I won the first set 4–2.

  We changed court side. A lot of kids had gathered along the wire fence to watch us play. Laura flashed Cory a thumbs-up.

  Why is she on his side? I wondered. Just because he saved her life the other day? Just because he’s blond and blue-eyed and lucky all the time, and everyone in school thinks he’s awesome?

  Yeah. Maybe.

  I forced myself to stop thinking about it. I tried
to force all thoughts from my mind.

  Tennis. Tennis. Tennis.

  I repeated the word in my mind like a chant. It helped me concentrate.

  I wiped the bad eye with the back of my hand. We started to play again. Even with only one good eye, I felt okay. I felt like I could finish him off.

  That’s when the sun came out. The clouds floated away. The sky brightened. The sun shone brightly again.

  “Hey!” I shielded my eyes with one hand.

  The sun was shining right in my eyes. One eye was totally blurred. The other eye was blinded by the sun. I couldn’t see a thing.

  Cory’s serve bounced beside me and flew by.

  I could see only a yellow-white glare. It was like someone kept flashing a camera right in my face.

  I tried to shield my eyes and play at the same time. But that was impossible.

  Cory sent another serve past me.

  Not fair! I exclaimed to myself. With the sun right in my eyes, he’s going to KILL me.

  What am I going to do?

  He killed me. Now we were even. We took a short break.

  Ms. Andersen stepped up to the net. “Okay, guys,” she called. “I don’t want to make you tense or anything. But it’s game-breaker time. This win counts big-time toward the scholarship. Good luck.”

  She didn’t want to make us tense? Then why did she say that?

  And did she have to keep saying “Good luck, good luck” all the time?

  Cory and I touched rackets as we changed court side. I kept blinking, trying to force the white spots from my eyes. I mopped my runny eye with my T-shirt sleeve.

  That sun was brutal. Sweat poured down my face. My hair was matted to my forehead.

  I took a deep breath. I swung the racket from side to side. I wanted to make it feel like part of my arm.

  I leaned forward and waited for Cory’s serve.

  And suddenly, I realized my luck had changed. I was about to win the tennis match.

  Cory served. Too high. The ball bounced at least six inches past the line.

  Cory couldn’t see. He couldn’t see a thing.

  Because we had switched court sides. And now the sun was in his eyes!

  Wow. I couldn’t believe it. I felt like jumping up and down.

  I watched him squinting and straining. The sun was like a big spotlight focused on his face.

  He served again. Out!

  Love–fifteen in favor of guess who? Me.

  My heart pounded. This was too easy. Too easy!

  Sports Camp, here I come!

  He served the next one. I hit it easily and bounced it right past him. Ha!

  Love–thirty.

  I won the first game easily. Three games to go to win the match.

  Cory wiped sweat from his face. He shook his head angrily. His cheeks were red. He stared into the sun.

  I tried not to laugh out loud. But I felt so good. It felt so good to be the lucky one for a change.

  I tensed my muscles, preparing to serve.

  That’s when the shadows rolled over the court.

  The sky darkened. Big clouds covered the sun.

  Cory’s whole body instantly relaxed. He was smiling now. He was loose. He was in the shade.

  He won. He won everything. The sun stayed behind the clouds, and he won the match.

  Lucky Duck won again.

  As soon as the match was over, the sun came out again.

  I pictured it grinning down on us. Like it had played a big joke on me.

  Cory even controls the SUN! I thought.

  “AAAAAAAAGH!” An angry cry burst from my throat.

  I lost it. I totally lost it.

  I just couldn’t take all the good luck going Cory’s way.

  Without thinking, I swung my arm hard and let the tennis racket go sailing into the air.

  Oh, no.

  I saw what was about to happen.

  Oh, no.

  Nothing I could do. Too late. Too late. I couldn’t stop it.

  The racket flew into the back of Ms. Andersen’s head.

  CLONNNNK. It sounded like wood crashing into a wall as it smashed against her skull.

  She uttered a high scream — and dropped to the ground.

  Kids along the side of the tennis court gasped and cried out. Then everyone went silent.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  Did I really do that?

  Okay. I threw the tennis racket. But could I really be unlucky enough to bean Ms. Andersen in the head with it? And knock her out cold?

  Everyone hurried over to her. They formed a silent circle.

  Cory and Laura leaned over her. I stayed at the back of the circle, afraid to look.

  Forget Sports Camp, I told myself. You’re going to prison for this, Lee.

  Ms. Andersen groaned. She sat up and rubbed the back of her head. She blinked several times. Then she smoothed her dark hair.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “I guess I was mostly startled.”

  She’s not dead!

  Huddled behind some kids, I let out a long sigh of relief.

  Cory helped Ms. Andersen to her feet. She brushed off her jeans. Then she rubbed the back of her head again.

  She gazed around the circle of kids till she spotted me. “Uh … Lee, could you come over here?” she asked.

  Uh-oh. Doom time.

  I took a few trembling steps toward her. “I — I’m sorry,” I stammered.

  She frowned at me. “Lee, you’re going to have to work on your sportsmanship, aren’t you?” she said. “You know, sportsmanship is important in this contest.”

  “It … was an accident,” I said. “The racket … it slipped from my hand.”

  Lame. I know.

  “I know it was an accident,” Ms. Andersen said in a soft voice. “But you were upset about losing the match, right? And you lost your temper.”

  I nodded. “Well … yes. But I didn’t mean —”

  She raised a hand to silence me. The sunlight flashed in her brown eyes. “Cory and Laura have a good head start toward the scholarship,” she said. “I want to see you try harder, Lee. And I don’t want to see you lose your temper again.”

  “Yes. Right. I mean, no problem,” I stammered. “I’m really sorry. I mean, really.”

  Yes. I was sorry I threw my racket. Sorry I smashed her in the head. Sorry I lost the match. Sorry I had such bad luck.

  I trudged home with my head down. I felt so sorry for myself, I didn’t look at the corner and almost got run over by a bunch of teenagers on bikes. They shouted all kinds of names at me.

  I deserved it.

  What a bad start for winning that scholarship. “Lee, you’re going to need a lot of help if you’re going to win now.” That’s what I told myself.

  And I guess that’s what made me think of that package. The box with the good-luck charm that I’d stuffed into a desk drawer.

  Maybe I should give it a try, I decided. After all, I’m totally desperate.

  It couldn’t hurt — right?

  Arfy greeted me at the front door. He leaped onto my chest and knocked me back against the wall. Then he pinned me there with his huge front paws and licked most of the skin off my face.

  “Good dog. Good dog. I’m happy to see you, too!” I cried. I had to wrestle him to the floor to escape his greeting.

  I was eager to get past him. I wanted to check out that good-luck charm. I needed it to start working — fast!

  I took the stairs two at a time and lurched into my bedroom. Arfy came clumping up the stairs, close behind me. He kept bumping the back of my legs, and I nearly tripped.

  Into my room. I dove to my desk. I bent down and tugged open the bottom drawer.

  I shoved some papers and things out of the way. Then I pulled up the box with the red letters.

  INSTANT GOOD LUCK.

  I read those words a couple of times. I felt excited. Maybe I was holding something that really did work. Something that would give me the luck I nee
ded to defeat Lucky Duckworth.

  I read the tiny type. This rare good-luck charm never fails.

  “What could it be?” I said to Arfy. He had his furry head raised and was sniffing at the box. “Think it’s just a rabbit’s foot?”

  I tore off the top of the box. The item inside was wrapped in a ball of red tissue paper.

  Carefully, I unwrapped the tissue paper — and gazed wide eyed at the thing inside.

  “Ohhh, sick,” I moaned. “It’s … disgusting.”

  I stared at the ugly thing in my hand. It was hard and kind of crusty. At first, I thought it was covered with black hair. Then I realized it was scraggly feathers.

  Some kind of horrible, dried-up claw. Was it a bird claw?

  I turned the box on its side and read the words: RARE VULTURE CLAW.

  Vulture claw?

  It sure didn’t look like a good-luck charm. I turned it over in my hand. It had three bony talons. The cracked nails at the ends were yellow and curled.

  It looked like something out of a horror movie!

  I held it up and scraped the air with it. “Caw caw cawwww.” I made an ugly bird sound.

  Arfy barked. He kept his eyes on it. I could tell he didn’t like it.

  I tried to picture the bird that lost this claw. A scrawny black vulture. I pictured it hopping on one claw.

  Didn’t vultures swoop down and eat dead things on the ground?

  Since when were vultures good luck?

  The claw was attached to a slender black rope. Like a pendant. I swung it in my hand. I couldn’t decide whether to wear the claw or not.

  Arfy barked again.

  “I know, boy,” I said. “It’s kind of gross. But I need all the help I can get.”

  “Lee.” Mom stepped into the room.

  I slid the claw into the desk drawer and closed it. I didn’t want her asking questions.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  She handed me a white envelope. It had a small orange and yellow pizza on one corner. “This just came for you,” she said. She turned and headed back downstairs.

  I tore it open and read the letter inside.

  The letter was from Pizza Planet. My favorite pizza place.

  “Whoa … whoa…” I muttered to myself as my eyes ran down the page.