On the Road to Mr. Mineo's by Barbara O'Connor Page A

for Gerald.
    But this time something will be different.

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    What Stella Saw
    Stella raced across the street to the big white house and climbed the wooden ladder to the garage roof to wait for Gerald.
    She went back to the shed to get the cards.
    She and Gerald had built the shed last summer. It had taken a long time. Searching for scraps of wood in alleys and on the curb on trash day. Hauling the lumber up the ladder to the roof. Figuring out how to fit the pieces together. Sawing. Hammering. Stella having lots of good ideas and Gerald never wanting to try any of them.
    But finally they had finished.
    The crowning glory of the shed was a roof made of wavy tin they had found in the scrap pile outside Jonas Barkley’s house when his flimsy old carport collapsed.
    The wavy tin roof was good, but it wasn’t perfect. It hung over the edge of the shed and made the door stick. Stella had to yank the door hard to open it. When she did, a startled one-legged bird fluttered wildly on the roof of the shed, its wings flapping and its foot tap, tap, tapping on the tin.
    Stella jumped back.
    The bird stopped flapping and tapping and looked at her, its head cocked to one side. Its orange eyes blinking.
    A pigeon!
    Stella had never seen a one-legged pigeon in Meadville, South Carolina.
    She had never seen a one-legged pigeon anywhere .
    â€œHey there,” she said, not moving a muscle.
    The pigeon tucked his leg up under him and sat on the edge of the wavy tin roof.
    Stella barely breathed.
    She wanted to reach out and stroke the pigeon’s smooth, silky back. The gray wings with two black stripes. The iridescent green neck, sparkling like jewels in the morning sun.
    â€œI hate Carlene!” Gerald hollered as he stomped onto the roof, his red hair damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead.
    The pigeon flew away in a whirl of flapping feathers and disappeared into the branches of the oak tree above the garage.
    â€œDang it, Gerald!” Stella slapped her hands against her sides.
    Gerald just stood there, looking confused.
    â€œThere was a one-legged pigeon on top of the shed.” Stella pointed to the wavy tin roof.
    Gerald looked up into the tree. “Really?”
    â€œMaybe it’ll come back and we can catch it,” Stella said.
    â€œCatch it?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    Stella waved a hand at Gerald. “You never want to do anything fun.”
    â€œYes I do.”
    Stella rolled her eyes. “You think playing crazy eights the livelong day is fun?” She kicked at the rotten leaves on the garage roof. “Well, I’m sick of it.”
    â€œWhat do you want to do?”
    Stella pointed to the branches overhead. “I want to catch that pigeon.”
    â€œOkay.” Gerald blinked at Stella. His cheeks were fat, like a chipmunk’s, and flushed with the summer heat. “But I still hate Carlene.”
    Carlene was Gerald’s older sister. She painted her fingernails black and argued with a long-haired boy in an old car in her driveway. One time she hollered cuss words at her father right in the middle of the bank.
    Stella sort of hated Carlene, too.
    â€œCome on,” she said, hurrying down the wooden ladder to the gravel driveway below.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Gerald asked worriedly, peering over the edge of the roof.
    â€œTo find something to catch that pigeon with.” Stella went into the garage, squinting into the darkness, breathing in the smell of dampness and mold and gasoline.
    She could hear Gerald clomping down the ladder and then huffing and puffing outside the garage.
    â€œI’m not allowed in there,” he called from the doorway.
    Stella rummaged through the garden tools, climbed over a rusty lawn mower, and peeked under a torn blue tarp. She stepped over paint cans and greasy car parts. She opened the drawers of a warped and mildewed bureau with missing knobs and poked through the fishing tackle