Читать книгу Hello There, We've Been Waiting for You! - Laurie B. Arnold - Страница 8

“Well dear, I’m off to my job at the flower shop. There’s a box of Froot Loops and peanut butter and jelly in the cupboard if you’re hungry. Don’t get into too much mischief. I’ll be home by five.” Florida slung a sparkly rhinestone purse over her shoulder.

I’d just wandered out of my room where I’d spent most of the day before drawing and wishing I had a different life. I was still in my PJs.

Right before she left, Florida kissed the new TV goodbye. Well, actually she got real close and blew it a kiss since she didn’t want to smudge the screen with lipstick.

Wow. Here’s how many times my grandmother has kissed me: zero. And there she was, kissing a TV. Not that I wanted her to kiss me—not at all—but I still thought it was weird. Almost as weird as her obsession with buying so many things from the shopping shows. Why does someone need that much stuff, anyway?

But I didn’t mind spending the day alone. I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new. Ever since my mom died, everyone I meet always asks me what happened. It’s usually the first question after they’ve said, “I’m sorry.” I’m thinking of having a little card printed up to hand out.

Hi! My name is Madison McGee. I’m eleven years old. My mom died in February from a heart attack. She was only 33.

The doctors were as surprised as anyone because they didn’t know she had a problem with her heart.

P.S. Thank you for being sorry.

P.P.S. I never knew my dad, so please don’t bother asking if he’s alive. I have no idea.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate people’s concern, and I know they’re curious. It just makes me too sad to talk about it.

So spending the day solo sounded perfect.

As soon as Florida left I helped myself to a bowl of cereal, sat on the sofa, and flipped through the channels on the MegaPix. It seemed like an ordinary TV to me, other than that picture-in-a-picture business.

I eventually found a rerun of my favorite TV show, Just Jessica. It was a show Violet and I both loved, and we really loved Carlee Knight, the girl who played Jessica LePew. I’d already seen the episode. It was the one where the eighth graders at Sunnyside Middle School put on a play of Cinderella. Just to be mean, the meanest girl of them all, Ashley, cast Jessica as the evil stepmother’s housecat. They all treated Jessica like dirt because she was a famous movie star and they were jealous. Only her best friend, Curtis, stuck up for her. That’s how it was in every show, and she always did her best to put up with a bad situation. Violet and I figured that in real life Carlee Knight was probably one of the nicest girls in the world.

After Jessica saved the day, which she did at the end of every episode, I turned off the TV. The back-up remote control and the contract for the MegaPix were still on the coffee table. I remembered what Mike had said about putting them in a safe place, so I stashed them in the bottom of my underwear drawer. Then I grabbed my soccer ball and went into the backyard.

Not much grew out there—only a few fat clumps of prickly cactus. I was extra-careful not to get too close to the neighbor lady’s yard.

At first I used my soccer ball as a pillow and lay in the dirt. The backyard may have been drab and dreary, but the sky was beautiful. It was as blue as the feathers on a blue jay’s back. Huge, puffy white picture-clouds floated through the air. One minute a cloud was the spitting image of an elephant, and then it morphed into a three-layer cake with whipped cream frosting. I even spied an angel with lacy white wings. Maybe it was a sign from my mom that she was watching over me.

When I finally got up to dribble my soccer ball around the yard, I caught the lady next door staring right at me from her back window. My heart tightened, and I pretended not to notice. Turning on my heels, I kicked the ball to the opposite end of the yard. The next time I peeked, she was gone. Creepy.

But if the lady next door was a weirdo, it’s possible that the neighbor who lived behind Florida was even weirder. The whole yard was littered with rusty car parts and cast-off computers.

“Move, you stupid dog!”

A skinny man with greasy hair dragged the ugliest, mangiest dog I’d ever seen to the edge of his property, closest to my grandmother’s yard.

The dog whined and howled. It was the same howl I’d heard the night before.

“Shut up, you idiot mutt!” The man spat in the dirt.

He chained the dog to an enormous old cracked computer monitor and then sped off in his rickety van, kicking up dust.

At first the dog snorted and growled. Then he got busy scratching his fleas. A few flies buzzed around his head. He lunged and snapped, but they zipped away.

Poor dog.

I dribbled my soccer ball closer so I could get a better look. The man sure was right about one thing. This dog was definitely a mutt. Maybe a little bit pit bull, a little bit bulldog, with a sprinkling of something that gave him wiry wisps of sticking-up fur. He was short and round with big, buggy eyes. Patches of his dirty white coat were missing. His crooked bottom teeth stuck out. The poor guy was badly in need of braces. Soon he got bored with fly-catching and went to work gnawing his front paw, drenching it with pools of gooey slobber.

I decided to prove to the dog that all humans weren’t so mean. I squatted down in front of him. “Hi there, little buddy!” I made my voice sound as cheerful as possible.

The dog gave a friendly bark. Then he crawled toward me, dragging the heavy computer monitor behind him inch by inch.

I set my soccer ball down and let him sniff my hand.

“Here, boy. It’s okay, I’ll be your friend. I won’t hurt you.”

He thumped his tail. He almost seemed to be grinning. As I reached over to pat his head, he lunged at my soccer ball and popped it.

He popped my lucky soccer ball! I grabbed for it, thinking maybe I could patch it up, but the dog growled and snatched it back. Rip! Then that mangy mutt leaped to his feet and flung my flattened ball around like a dead squirrel.

“You’re a bad, bad dog!”

The dog wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to me. He was too busy digging a hole and burying his new trophy.

I fought back tears and ran into the house, slamming the door behind me. I wanted to get as far away from that nasty soccer-ball murderer as possible.