that morning were pouring cement.
Carrie stared at the wooden board and beam in front of her. She had less than no idea what she was doing. Prandya had handed her a can full of nails and a hammer and told her to secure the board to the wooden beam. Already she had hammered in five nails. She was sure that was enough, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do next, so she just stopped and waited for instructions. That was until Ali came by. Now she was just hammering for the sake of hammering. The last thing she wanted was to have both Doreen and that guy on her bad side.
"Can I have another stack of wood, please?" Doreen said, tossing another perfectly measured and sawed-off board onto a pile. Carrie glanced at the mound that represented Doreen's last hour of work. Each board was shorn straight and true and each was exactly the same size as the last. Who was this girl's father, Ty Pennington?
"Why don't you pace yourself, Doreen?" Carrie said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she continued to hammer. "You're making the rest of us nonconstruction-inclined volunteers look bad."
Doreen straightened up from the next board she was measuring. Then she slid some L-shaped tool down to the end of the board and secured it.
Carrie didn't even know what the thing was and here was Doreen moving it around like a pro.
"Well, I don't see anyone else having any problems," she said, sniffing superiorly as she slipped the pencil out and drew another line. "Just admit that you suck at this."
"Ha! I can hammer rings around you, girlfriend," Carrie said, turning toward Doreen. Between the heat and Dor-mean's wisecracks and the confusion and the fact that she was here in India but was still being kept from her T-shirt search, Carrie had one nerve left, and it was being trampled on big time.
"Is that some sort of challenge?" Doreen asked, peering over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn't in hearing range. "Because I'll kick you to the curb faster than Jason did."
Okay, a low blow.
"Oh, you did not just say that," Carrie growled, clutching her hammer as if it were a weapon.
"I didn't just say it, Jockstrap," Doreen snarled. "I meant it."
"You wanna go? Let's go!" Carrie yelped.
But before she could swing the hammer around like a samurai's sword, it slipped out of her hand and landed square on her flip-flopped foot.
"Ow! Oh, man! Owowowowowow!" Stars exploded before Carrie's eyes--a phenomenon she thought only occurred in cartoons. She was sure her big toe was going to explode. She jumped up and down, clutching her left foot with her right hand.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" she cried out. Even though she was in pain, this exertion of pent-up energy felt sort of good. She brought her foot down again and Doreen's eyes widened.
"Carrie! Watch out!"
Carrie's foot hit the leg of the supply table behind her. The leg col apsed and the table buckled sideways, the top becoming a perfect slide. Every nail, screw, hammer, wrench, saw, and all the other nameless tools slid right down the tabletop, off the foundation of the house, and directly into the freshly poured cement outside. The whole thing made a loud crash, punctuated by a dozen thick plops.
And then there was silence. Carrie looked at Doreen. Doreen went pale. For a moment nobody moved. But only for a moment.
"Who did this?" a deep voice bell owed. "Who did this to the cement!?"
One of the scary guys from breakfast that morning climbed directly into the house, swinging up by the beams. The guy had muscles in places Carrie had never even thought of before. His face quivered with rage and his eyes were about to pop out of his head.
This time Carrie really did see her life flash before her eyes, and it was way too uninteresting for her to die now. She backed up quickly, limping on her foot a bit.
"Who is the genius that dumped a hundred nails into my freshly smoothed cement!?!"
The man whirled around and peered at Carrie. He looked just like the Hulk. Only not green, and his
Carrie stared at the wooden board and beam in front of her. She had less than no idea what she was doing. Prandya had handed her a can full of nails and a hammer and told her to secure the board to the wooden beam. Already she had hammered in five nails. She was sure that was enough, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do next, so she just stopped and waited for instructions. That was until Ali came by. Now she was just hammering for the sake of hammering. The last thing she wanted was to have both Doreen and that guy on her bad side.
"Can I have another stack of wood, please?" Doreen said, tossing another perfectly measured and sawed-off board onto a pile. Carrie glanced at the mound that represented Doreen's last hour of work. Each board was shorn straight and true and each was exactly the same size as the last. Who was this girl's father, Ty Pennington?
"Why don't you pace yourself, Doreen?" Carrie said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she continued to hammer. "You're making the rest of us nonconstruction-inclined volunteers look bad."
Doreen straightened up from the next board she was measuring. Then she slid some L-shaped tool down to the end of the board and secured it.
Carrie didn't even know what the thing was and here was Doreen moving it around like a pro.
"Well, I don't see anyone else having any problems," she said, sniffing superiorly as she slipped the pencil out and drew another line. "Just admit that you suck at this."
"Ha! I can hammer rings around you, girlfriend," Carrie said, turning toward Doreen. Between the heat and Dor-mean's wisecracks and the confusion and the fact that she was here in India but was still being kept from her T-shirt search, Carrie had one nerve left, and it was being trampled on big time.
"Is that some sort of challenge?" Doreen asked, peering over her shoulder to make sure her mom wasn't in hearing range. "Because I'll kick you to the curb faster than Jason did."
Okay, a low blow.
"Oh, you did not just say that," Carrie growled, clutching her hammer as if it were a weapon.
"I didn't just say it, Jockstrap," Doreen snarled. "I meant it."
"You wanna go? Let's go!" Carrie yelped.
But before she could swing the hammer around like a samurai's sword, it slipped out of her hand and landed square on her flip-flopped foot.
"Ow! Oh, man! Owowowowowow!" Stars exploded before Carrie's eyes--a phenomenon she thought only occurred in cartoons. She was sure her big toe was going to explode. She jumped up and down, clutching her left foot with her right hand.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" she cried out. Even though she was in pain, this exertion of pent-up energy felt sort of good. She brought her foot down again and Doreen's eyes widened.
"Carrie! Watch out!"
Carrie's foot hit the leg of the supply table behind her. The leg col apsed and the table buckled sideways, the top becoming a perfect slide. Every nail, screw, hammer, wrench, saw, and all the other nameless tools slid right down the tabletop, off the foundation of the house, and directly into the freshly poured cement outside. The whole thing made a loud crash, punctuated by a dozen thick plops.
And then there was silence. Carrie looked at Doreen. Doreen went pale. For a moment nobody moved. But only for a moment.
"Who did this?" a deep voice bell owed. "Who did this to the cement!?"
One of the scary guys from breakfast that morning climbed directly into the house, swinging up by the beams. The guy had muscles in places Carrie had never even thought of before. His face quivered with rage and his eyes were about to pop out of his head.
This time Carrie really did see her life flash before her eyes, and it was way too uninteresting for her to die now. She backed up quickly, limping on her foot a bit.
"Who is the genius that dumped a hundred nails into my freshly smoothed cement!?!"
The man whirled around and peered at Carrie. He looked just like the Hulk. Only not green, and his
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